Hey everyone, this is the conclusion for "The Storm". Sorry about the delay – there's always tons of distractions.
Please give me your feedback; whether you loved or hated the story and why – and keep an eye out for my next story.
You might like it.
Enjoy!
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Sonya couldn't sleep.
She had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours. She actually
had
been tossing in bed for hours - but let's be honest here - there's hours and then there's
hours
.
It's a perception thing.
Time has a nasty habit of slowing down in bad situations. You might notice it sometime in your life. You'll be driving - bored and more-or-less going through the motions when, suddenly, a danger will present itself. A fuzzy (probably adorable) animal darts onto the street. A person doesn't look both ways before stepping onto the road. Something happens.
Disaster will be moments or seconds away and time will seem to slow - just for a moment - while your brain tries to figure the situation out.
Your brain runs the numbers.
Or you'll simply witness an accident - somebody else's disaster - and you'll unconsciously slow a little bit as you pass by. People have a sort of mental and physical deference for disaster. We tend to take a moment to pay our little two-cent mental tribute before carrying on with our day.
But sometimes - unfortunately - you are at the heart of the disaster, and others are the ones driving past. The spotlight's on you.
You are the center of the storm.
It's not fun.
Sonya had cheated on her fiance Steve yesterday. She had gotten drunk and met somebody new and nice and handsome from her class and he had offered to help her when nobody else would and they had a few drinks together and things got out of hand.
And then she had failed to tell Steve about what she had done when he arrived unexpectedly the morning after, offering her comfort and apologies and saying everything and doing everything she had wanted him to say the day before.
And she couldn't tell him.
She had tried - she really had. Instead, she had fucked him like the whore she felt she was until he begged off for a break and then she had dithered around her apartment and frittered her time away and gone to bed early because she didn't know what the next step was and going to bed is rarely a bad choice when you're tired and lost and confused.
Sonya didn't have a game plan.
She didn't even know where to start.
Tell him.
Don't tell him.
Why?
Why not?
He loves me.
He won't love me if I tell him.
Her thoughts repeated endlessly along these same basic patterns.
So instead of taking the time to deal with her problems, Sonya tossed and turned in her rumpled, slightly stale smelling bed - a little too conscious of the raw feeling emanating from her lady parts - as memories of the past two days played in her head again and again - unwanted and unasked for - like Christmas music in retail stores around the holidays.
She remembered Rick staring at her as he carried her over to her rumpled bed - they were attached at the waist. Each step he took jostled their connection a little and sent pleasurable waves of sensation coursing through her body. Neither of them noticed, or cared, about the horrendous state of her room. That's not what they were there for. Her arms were gently draped around him as their lips met - again and again. One of his hands was cupping her ass; hers were running over his developed body - she couldn't get enough of it.
They were only focused on each other. Only focused on one thing.
Panting with what could only be accurately described as barely restrained lust, he laid them onto the bed and continued where they had left off.
And visions of dick danced in her head.
Her consciousness played the memories again and again. They wouldn't stop. The thoughts wouldn't stop.
Touching him.
Smelling him.
Feeling him.
Each triggered different memories and each memory triggered more of exactly what she was trying to avoid so she could drift off. She tossed in her bed. Were she a cat - her tail would have been swishing. Bristly. Angrily. She had to make do with sheets and panties
He was on top of her. She could feel herself spread tightly around him, pulling him in - urging him onwards. Their eyes made contact as entered her completely - again and again. She moaned - she couldn't stop moaning - she was on fire. His mouth found hers and their tongues met and she closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of his lips on hers as she felt his hand caress her breast and ass while the other tangled in her hair.
His hips began slamming into her, making Sonya howl with pleasure. This wasn't anything delicate or timid or half-hearted about what they were doing - this was about complete indulgence.
Yeah - she was going to fall asleep any minute now.
Sighing, Sonya gave up all pretence and fumbled over around her nightstand, looking for her cellphone - it's harsh light temporarily blinding her as she looked for the number.
It wasn't that late.
Yet.
She needed to talk to someone.
Fucking men.
===================================================
Have you ever gotten away with something you knew, deep down, you shouldn't have?
It sucks.
Well, that's not true.
/Sometimes/ it sucks.
Getting away with things sucks because human beings are generally conditioned to feel guilty.
Sometimes with good reason - sometimes not.
The rich guilty of being rich. The poor guilty of being poor. The middle class guilty of being middle class.
Guilty for being fat.
Guilty for being skinny.
Guilty for being stupid.
Guilty for being average or mediocre.
Guilty for being excellent.
Guilty for cheating.
Guilt inevitably results in that feeling of negative pressure - emotional weight. Spiritual weight.
What's really important is that you discover a way to relieve that weight - that negative energy.
For some people, it's food; they tend to be fat. For others, it's sex; they tend to be sluts. Other people deal with their problems by ignoring them completely - they tend to be buffoonish. Some people drink. Some people use drugs. Some people escape with movies or video games or television series or music or news or the internet.
Others exercise. Others fight. Others still create art.
Usually, it's some tangled combination of the above.
For most people, though - it's the simple act of sharing the burden. Trusting another with the proverbial luggage. Because as strange as it may seem sometimes, another's problems and weights are often easier to carry and manage than our own. People who don't have that special confident can hire trained professionals if they have enough money to cover sessions.
God bless capitalism.
But, usually, we trade - and the trade itself makes trading easier.
Sort of cool if you think about it.
For Sonya - it was one person. Most people have one person. You're actually pretty lucky if you have more than one.
Sarah.
Sarah was the person Sonya would immediately call if she ever needed to dispose of a body. Or if she won the lottery. Or if she got pregnant. Sarah was the person Sonya called when Steve had proposed to her. Sarah was also the person Sonya had immediately called to help her move her stuff a few days ago - who had wished her luck and a smiley face.
The bitch.
But Sonya loved her friend - very and truly - for a variety of reasons.
One of them being that she was somebody you could call late at night to meet up with to eat junk food with and bitch about boy issues without worrying about the inevitable gossip the following morning that you would when you confide in someone who doesn't really have your best interests in mind. Some people couldn't keep their mouths shut - Sarah couldn't - but she didn't ever air dirty laundry.
It's actually a really valuable trait.
A few moments after Sonya had accidentally knocked a variety of items off her nightstand looking for her little black phone, she had texted her friend proposing a late night hang out and promptly received a reply filled with shorthand expletives and enthusiasm for the idea.
She was probably drunk.
She did that.
Often.
Whatever. Nobody's perfect.
Somehow managing to approximately convey the emotional exhaustion of everything that happened to her in the past few days with a single frustrated, dramatic sigh, Sonya threw off her blankets and started fishing through the pockets of several of her pants that lay strewn about. Her room was still very much resembled a disaster area.
She was trying to figure out which one had her car keys.
And her wallet.
Fuck.
=================================================
Sonya picked up her friend and brought her to a nearby coffee store.
Sarah had barely finished clasping her seatbelt on when Sonya began an impressive monologue about everything that had happened. Sonya confessed, she confided, she even manage to convey a little - from beginning to end. Her friend sat and did something extremely difficult that the best of friends seem to effortlessly do - she listened and made minimal interruptions. Sonya told her friend about the move, the beer, the sex, the morning after, the sex, the guilt and the sex.
They had entered the coffee store around the same time that Sonya was wrapping up her confession and took a seat at a nearby table.
