Love The Second Time Around

Sorry for the delay between stories, but . . . well, I'd make a bunch of excuses, but it boils down to me being a slacker.

Anyway, this is my latest chapter in the ongoing tale of one of my favourite characters, Amberle. It picks up after the events of

Tapestry, Chapter 1

. I had thought to use it to continue the Tapestry series, but I think those stories have a life of their own and I'll continue them at a later date.

In a bit of shameless cross-promotion, if you haven't read

Lost Love

or the

McKayla's Miracle

series, I suggest you start there. Characters from some of my other stories make appearances here, too, so I'll leave it to you to find them.

As with many of my stories, this one is long on character and short on sex, so if you're looking for a quick stroke, this is the wrong story for you. Also, as a word of warning, this one is written in the first person from both Amberle and Nichole's points of view, and my intent isn't to cause confusion.

I love to hear from readers, so please leave a comment or send me a note if you are so inclined.

Enjoy!

**********************

Nichole

Looking back, the first time I saw her, I think I knew we were going to fall in love.

It wasn't the heavens opening up with a chorus of angels, or even that moment when you realise that your one true love is looking back at you. It was a simple smile. The sad, simple smile we both share.

I remember the exact moment my first husband, Michael, and I fell in love. We grew up together; literally next door to one another. Our fathers owned a business together and we were raised in one, big loving family. I had just returned from studying abroad in China and ran into Michael at the company picnic.

He was so handsome, and for the first time, I saw him as something other than an older brother in our big extended "family". Our eyes met and from that moment on, we were attached at the hip. We left the picnic and went to dinner, absorbed in our own little blissful world. That night, we went back to his apartment and made love as the moonlight shone through the windows.

Michael was killed in a car accident not even three years later, and when he died in my arms, a part of me died along with him.

Many years and two husbands later, I met Amberle while on a beach trip with a mutual friend.

She was also widowed; her for almost six years, me for just over fifteen.

Neither of us were looking for love, or even companionship.

I remember thinking how pretty she was. Amberle is neither drop-dead gorgeous, nor is she simply plain. She is short and curvy in all the right places, with a full head of wavy, sandy-blond hair. What struck me was that she doesn't know how beautiful she is, and it seems that no matter how many times I tell her, she doesn't believe me. Of course, her late wife was the kind of woman whose beauty would launch a thousand ships, but Amberle is second to none in my book.

And her ass is amazing.

She had never remarried or even dated seriously after her wife died, her heartbreak was so great. There were six of us together for a girls' weekend out, and Amberle and I spent the long weekend sharing a room at a beach house purely by chance.

The two of us talked candidly and openly about our mutual experiences in losing our spouses, and for the first time in my life, I thought that I had finally met someone who knew

exactly

how I felt. Don't get me wrong; I know people lose their spouses all the time. My mother has outlived my father by half a dozen years, for instance.

But they had a lifetime together. They raised five children, built a successful business and enjoyed retirement as doting grandparents. It wasn't until Dad was in his 80s that the Parkinson's Disease really began to take its toll, and finally took his life.

Amberle and I both had our spouses taken from us; mine in a car accident, hers from cancer. I envy that she and McKayla had a daughter; Michael and I were childless.

I only got three years with the love of my life, but I wouldn't trade those three years for anything, and on some nights, I wished God had taken me along with Michael.

So when Amberle and I started our relationship, we were both on the same page. And I think that's why we were destined to fall in love.

I used to believe in soulmates . . . at least, until mine was gone in an instant. I know Amberle did, too. We both believe the loves of our lives are watching us from Heaven, and we both think that our spouses want us to be happy. But we also both believe that no matter how much we love one another, our love will never be as passionate and as complete as it was with our first loves.

And we're both okay with that.

Since Michael's death, I have been married twice, the first time to someone who deserved better than I could give him at the time, and the second to a man who didn't deserve me. My love for Amberle caught me completely off guard, but once it came to fruition, I couldn't imagine not loving her.

She doesn't need me, either emotionally or financially, just as I don't need her. And that's a good place to be.

In the five months since we "discovered" one another, our relationship progressed quickly. I've gone to see her, she's come to see me, and we've gone away for long, romantic weekends together.

I don't think that that in my wildest dreams that I ever would have thought that I could have fallen in love with a women, but our attraction isn't strictly sexual, but nor is it platonic. It's just that being with Amberle feels so . . . so . . . right.

**********************

She rolled over lazily in the big bed in the room Michael and I once shared. The sun shone through from behind the curtains. I snuggled up to her, our naked bodies pressed together under the soft down comforter.

We cuddle a lot, I think just to feel close to one another.

Even though Amberle is four years older than I am, you couldn't tell by looking. In fact, I didn't think she was a day over thirty-five when we met. But she's forty-four, and in fine shape.

And I mean

fine

.

Her flight came in late the night before, and I picked her up at the airport using the same car service I frequent when on business. It was going to be our first meeting as a couple in my social circle.

My "coming out" party, so to speak.

I swore my younger sister to secrecy before telling her that I was seeing a woman. My mother didn't know. My son would be coming back from his father's later that afternoon and we would talk to him first, then the rest of my family.

The butterflies in my stomach were working overtime, and I had barely slept, but I knew everything was going to be okay. My family was close, not only with each other, but with Michael's family as well. The business was chugging along with my sister and brother-in-law at the helm. Most of us still live in New York.

At first, I was apprehensive about introducing my new love interest to them, not because she was a woman, but because my track record since Michael's death wasn't the greatest. There were eight kids between our two families, and in reality, we are all one big family. Our parents made sure of that.

Many years ago, Michael's younger brother Rhett came out as gay. There was a collective shrug among us, since we all basically knew it beginning when he was about eleven years old. Even my grandparents, who were as traditional as they came, accepted him for who he was because we were raised that family comes first. So I knew it wouldn't be any problem when I showed up with a beautiful woman on my arm.

The real problem was the shadow cast by my third husband.

Everyone could see it but me.

I don't think he is a bad or malicious person. But he has a problem with gambling and with credit. Even now, I don't believe he started out after my money, but he sure didn't have any problem treating me like his ATM.

Thankfully, I found out about his financial problems before he could do too much damage, and our marriage was annulled after only a few months.

My brothers and sisters tried to warn me, but I didn't listen. I fell for him quickly and got married without doing my due diligence. I worried that my family would think I was jumping into another relationship. Our split was quick and mostly without drama, but my family never really liked or trusted him, and the element of fraud had to be introduced into our marriage for me to see it.

To have two failed marriages after one that seemed to be made in Heaven was disconcerting, but I knew Amberle wasn't after my money. And we were no longer twenty-seven year olds who didn't know any better.

As we lay in bed together, I rehearsed the speech I had prepared to introduce Amberle to son, my mother , my siblings, and even my ex-husband. I went over every contingency in my mind. I won every argument I thought might come up.

And I knew that when it was time to actually say something, I would draw a complete blank.

Yet, as I held Amberle in my arms, I knew it would all be okay.

**********************

Amberle

If my life with McKayla taught me anything, it was that sometimes, you just have to follow your heart.

In the six years after her death, I sublimated all of my energy and focus into raising our daughter. Maureen was—and still is—my joy and my light. There is no one in this world I could ever love more, and that includes McKayla.

I was probably smothering to her, but she is the closest connection I still have with my late wife, and she took it well (mostly). They walk and talk the same way. Our daughter adopted many of her mom's mannerisms. And a part of me never wants to lose that.

But life goes on. Maureen is a sophomore at Duke in the pre-med program. Our daughter is the second smartest person I have ever met. She told me that she's going to cure cancer. And I believe her.

The first year she was away was hard. Our house is quiet now. Too quiet. So I work a little bit. I volunteer for the various charities McKayla and I championed.

Have I mentioned that I'm 44 years old and essentially retired? It's a pretty sweet gig.

Looking back now, I realise that I spent the six years after McKayla died pitying myself. Not in a self-destructive way, but I couldn't bring myself to play the hand life dealt me. There was a part of me that was afraid of leaving my life with McKayla behind.

What I didn't realise is that life was leaving me behind. I went on a couple of dates, mostly out of courtesy to whomever it was that was trying to set me up. My daughter, my brother, my sister and even McKayla's parents all tried to convince me to stop seeing my wife's death as a paralytic event and move into the next chapter of my life.

But I didn't.

So when my dear friend Melanie Westcott introduced me to her friend Nichole Galloway, I was blindsided.

I wouldn't say that I fell in love with her immediately, but very soon after we met, I felt a connection to her. It was more than just the fact that we were both widowed. Even from our first conversations, I felt like I had known her forever.

She is friendly and engaging. Nichole can have the brusque, New York attitude, but can also be caring and generous, sometimes swinging between those poles with less than a moment's notice.

And she's beautiful.

Growing up, she played sports and is still in great shape. Her body is compact and strong. She is not the voluptuous goddess that McKayla was, but she's close.

Despite our different backgrounds, we have a lot in common; we share the same political views, we share many of the same interests, and we both have a low tolerance for bullshit.

After that weekend at the beach with Melanie and some of our other mutual friends, our relationship progressed quickly and I soon found myself missing her touch. Thank goodness for Facetime and broadband internet!

I love that I don't have to worry about her being after my money. I love that she understands that I'll always celebrate my wedding anniversary to McKayla. I love that when I burst into tears because I can't fucking open a goddam jar of pickles, she takes me in her arms and holds me without saying a word. I love that we let each other be the people we are without strings or conditions or expectations.

And most of all, once I admitted it to myself, I love her.

**********************

I woke up with Nichole pressed up against me.

We were in her apartment on my first morning in New York with her. She was now the landlord for the whole building, having bought it after being awarded a substantial amount of money in a wrongful death lawsuit following her husband's death.

She still lives in the apartment she shared with Michael; like me, she couldn't bear to give up the home she had made with the love of her life. It occupies half of the fourth floor in a building along Central Park West, just north of Columbus Circle. At one time, the building had been a warehouse of some kind, but that was long gone, replaced as residential and commercial space.

There are retail shops, restaurants and offices on the first two floors, and high-end luxury apartments on the other five. There is a small staff in the building, with a superintendent, doorman, and maintenance crew.

Sunlight shone into the room from behind the blinds. The hustle and bustle of the city had already started. In my house, there is the constant crash of the waves upon the shore. Here, it's a different noise—the sounds of the street below—but still constant.

Nichole's arm was draped around me, absently clutching my breast. We were both naked.

I love the feel of her skin against mine. Her touch is soft and gentle. She is still a little tentative, as if she is just figuring out the whole girl-girl thing. But she's a fast learner, and truly, I'm content just to snuggle with her all the time.

From the beginning of our relationship, I wanted to make sure that we weren't rushing in to things. After all, as far as anyone knew, she was still straight as an arrow. Hell,

I

may still be straight as an arrow; I'm not sure that McKayla actually turned me gay as much as she just made me fall in love with her.

Both of us still find men attractive. Both of us are very feminine and we like girly things.

Yet there we were together. We seemed to fit together naturally. Either spooned up against one another or lounging around on the couch.

At first, I was worried about introducing Nichole to my family, but Maureen very quickly figured out that I was starting a relationship and McKayla's parents were openly supportive of me dating again. When they conspired with my good friends Kevin and Melanie Westcott to celebrate my anniversary, they arranged to have Nichole just "show up" on me.

I was surprised and a little angry that they sprang her on my party, but I was also relieved that Nichole's introduction had been taken care of without me.

So as we planned my first visit with her family, I told her that I wanted to meet with her 9 year-old son first, then with her mother and siblings. I wanted to hold off on meeting Michael's family, but Nichole told me that their families were so close that his family was essentially her family and no amount of pleading could change that.

After a night with her flock, she was hosting a party downstairs with her friends so I could get to see how her life was.

I rolled over on to my back and her head fell on to my shoulder. I kissed her gently and she smiled. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I whispered. Her hand reached over and brushed the hair out of my eyes.

"Do we have to get up?" she yawned.

All I could do was smile. Her body pressed against mine. A chill ran from my head to my toes as her fingertips traced soft circles around my belly and breasts.

We kissed again. That soft, wonderful, unhurried kiss promising great things to come.

"Let's just stay in bed all day." Nichole nuzzled up to me, suckling on my earlobe and neck. My body shuddered.

Her hand cupped my breast and squeezed gently. My nipples hardened instantly.

I started to roll over to face her, but she pushed me back.

The first times McKayla and I were together, I was very passive. I was afraid of doing something wrong.

Nichole was the complete opposite. She was very aggressive and often initiated our sexual encounters. Where I was tentative in my newfound lesbianism all those years ago, she seemed be embrace this side of her sexuality.

My arms wrapped around her and I pulled her to me. Our breasts pressed together.

When I ran my fingernails down her back, she bit her lip to stifle a scream.

Our foreheads brushed together and she looked into my eyes. Hers shone with desire.

"I love it when you look at me that way," I whispered.

"What way?"

"The look you have right now." My hand caressed her cheek. She turned and took my fingertips between her lips and sucked. "The look like you're going to eat me alive."

"Oh, I'm going to eat you alright!" We laughed and I once again held her close.

We kissed again eagerly. Our tongues intertwined. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when she pinched both of my nipples at the same time.

Nichole pressed her body against mine. I melted into the plush mattress and pulled her close. We stayed like that for a long time, exploring one another with our hands. With our lips.

She left a trail of soft kisses across my cheek and down my neck.

I pushed my chest out as her lips enveloped my nipples, gently tugging on one. Then the other.

My hips began to reflexively buck up against her and she pushed back against me. I sighed as she pressed me back into the bed.

Her lips wove a cold trail of kisses down my belly. I shivered with delight.

She pressed her tongue against my sex and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. Her tongue began to glide over my clit and labia, never stopping.

Pass after pass sent tingles up and down my body until my hands grasped at her hair, as if to pull her face into my pussy. Nichole worked my clit over, gently making love to me with her lips and tongue until I screamed and begged for release.

When the cum finally hit me, I threw myself back into the plush pillows as the room began to spin. She never let up, until I blacked out.

My eyes fluttered open to see her looking down at me, her crooked smile promising both comfort and mischief.

I fell back asleep into the warmth of her embrace.

**********************

Nichole

I paced from the kitchen to the living room and back. Again. Then to the bedroom, and back by the foyer. And across the kitchen again.

Amberle sat on the couch, flashing me an amused smile. If she was nervous, she certainly didn't show it.

Stephen would be coming home soon, and then it would be off to introduce my girlfriend to the rest of my family. At the beginning of my whirlwind romance with Amberle, I knew that one day I would have to introduce her to my son and my family. It just never crossed my mind that it would be this hard.

I had some experience with this before. My second husband and I divorced a couple of years after Stephen was born. I didn't date a lot, but when I did, I tried to make sure that my son was blissfully unaware of my activities. Still, when I met the man who became my third husband, I had to introduce him to everyone.

He was always polite and charming, so that wasn't the issue. I just didn't want my family to disapprove of my choice of lovers and spouses. Stephen liked him, though, and that was important to me. My sister Emily had a bad feeling about my third husband, and it turns out she was right.