She Held On So Long

~For the man who didn't fall in love with me while we walked in the rain...~

There'd been others, oh yes. How could there not have been? She'd lost her virginity at fourteen to a boy who took her heart and beat her for years because of it. She'd loved and she'd fucked before...but she'd never made love. No, she'd saved that for years and had no intentions of simply giving it away.

There are four kinds of sexual encounters. Sex, which is merely for the payoff, fucking, which is hard and fast (and you usually need cleats for the good angles), screwing which is all of that playful fun-loving stuff, and making love. Her mother had told her that making love was all about emotions; a feeling so high and so sincere that only the perfect man would do.

"How do I know who that perfect man is?" she'd asked.

"He'll know exactly how to give you what you expect. If he doesn't it's not the right guy and he's looking for one of the other three things."

Through all of the innocent boyfriends, and through all of the sexual ones, she waited. She would silently offer it to one she thought was right, and find him looking for something else.

Frustrated early at the age of eighteen, she'd met Him. They were both attending the fire academy at their local district, eager to be the heroes they each knew they were inside.

He was six feet tall, sunset red hair, and eyes that, to this day, remind her of oxodized steel. Watching him walk across the room to sign in, she instantly felt self-conscious about her faded blue jeans, tight white t-shirt, and casual bandana holding back her long, dark hair.

He was twelve years her senior, and married. She was supposed to get married in a couple months...but as she watched him sit down and cast a glance her way, for some reason she knew she wasn't going to. It was more than lust; it was a feeling of knowledge and assurance.

The first time they fucked was in the cab of his small Ranger. She still has a scar on her leg from the plastic ribbing around the driver's seat. It hadn't been sex, or screwing, but a hard, fast, eager fuck.

The first time they screwed was in the cab of HER small Ranger. He'd never had head quite like that before, and when she'd proclaimed that she was the "Queen of Head," he hadn't believed her. He did after that drive into the dark city streets.

They'd had sex a countless number of times in the cabs of the trucks, and even once in the bed of one of them.

He'd left his wife. Not for her, but for himself. She merely gave him the courage. With their long talks, she'd left her fiancé and found herself living in her truck and at her cousin's.

One night, he asked her if they could get a motel room for the afternoon. It would only be their second time of doing it on a bed. She, excited of course, agreed immediately. Instead of sex, however, she had a different plan for him.

They met up in secret, like always, keeping their personal lives separate from their professional ones. In the spirit of humor, they chose the sleaziest motel in town. As they walked in he asked her, "Are you going to be my wife for today?" She nodded, laughing, knowing in her bones 'one day' would soon last a lifetime.

Once inside the room, she laid down on the bed with him and smiled, kissing his own smiling lips. Their eyes locked and within moments, she found herself giving away the one thing she'd held on to for so long.

He got up just long enough to shut off the main lights and turn on the bathroom light, so that the room was awash with the dimness of lowly-humming halogen. A soft tipping of deep red danced in through the window, from the motel sign standing by the freeway. He opened the door, letting the air swirl in behind him as he approached the bed.

It was as if he'd read her mind. This time their clothes came off slowly, peppered with baby kisses on naked flesh as it became exposed. He undressed her like a porcelain doll. His lips met her in time and in yearning, but the hunger wasn't active like all the other times before. His hands felt like warm liquid, flowing over her curves and exploring her shadowy places. He didn't touch her pussy, he didn't stroke it; no, he kissed her lips and lay her naked back on the bed.

Their position was casually fixed as he climbed upon her. He kissed her tantalizingly and led his cock to her opening, but not pushing it within. No, this time, he grasped her hands in his and held them above her head on the pillow. He locked her eyes on hers, speaking silently to only her, and gently, so gently, he moved himself inside of her.

Her body arched, her hands clenched down, and her skin became a sea of tingles and slow-burning flame. She easily welcomed him in...into her body and into her soul. This was what she had been waiting for.

He knew how to move, and they did so for an eternity of minutes. The physical sensation was lost to the frenzy of silent exclamations they made with their eyes. They hands never parted, their eyes never strayed, and he knew the exact moments to dance their tongues together patiently.

A climax splashed down onto both of them. And in the aftermath she found them still intertwined. He hadn't moved, she hadn't spoken. Their clothes still lay mixed on the floor.

It had taken her years to give that away to those unwilling to take it, and here he was...her lover...her first.