I Opened Her Diary and Read It

I Opened Her Diary and I Read It -- Don't Judge Me -- You Don't Know the Story Yet

PART FOUR of FIVE

There are things in this world words fail to adequately describe; they—at best—can only speak of the shadow of the thing. I can tell you "the bird soared," and we will have an understanding, but those words do not come close to describing the flow, the grace, the ineffable beauty of the act. Likewise, when I tell you I loved her, you will have some idea of what that is. Yet, even then, those three words have become a catch phrase for everything from "had a great time last night" to "goodbye." They have become so commonplace that they have lost their sacredness. So, when I say I loved her, I feel I must clarify, as best as words will permit, that there was nothing 'common' about it; it was sacred.

As I lay back—bathing in sun rays, drunk on Mimosas, high on Sam, more at ease with who I am, more present than I'd ever been—surrendering to all that is, while an exotic, magical, captivating woman made love to me with her tongue, I wasn't thinking of words. I was there, lost in the moment, being love.

I came in gushing waves, that rolled as they travelled throughout my body, ultimately ending in a splash of orgasmic release that Sam lovingly, thoroughly, lapped up, before kissing her way up my stomach, breasts, neck, to my parted lips.

Celia and Mandy walked through the patio doors giggling just as our lips touched. My eyes remained shut—not wanting to crack the moment—so I didn't actually see Sam wave them away. But I felt her hand leave my body, I felt a slight movement, and I heard the patio door shut. I felt a huge sense of relief. I no longer wanted their company; at that moment, I only wanted Sam.

We kissed softly, her still glistening lips, wetting mine. We kissed, softly, as tears fell.

"Did you feel that?" Sam whispered, never taking her lips from mine.

"Yes," I breathed.

"I've never experienced anything like that."

"Me neither."

"Emily,"

"Yes, Chica?"

"I think I love you."

I managed to lift my arm and place my hand in the small of her back, drawing her closer to me. I kissed her, tasting our salty tears, as I told her what I already knew to be true.

"I know I love you."

Sam collapsed into my arms, her cheek pressed on my bare breasts, as I stroked her hair.

"I'm yours," she exhaled.

"I'm yours," I breathed.

We lay like that, naked, fully aware, for some time before there was a quiet knock on the patio door. Sam looked up and explained to me that it was Celia.

"Do you mind if I find out what she needs," she asked.

"Not at all, Chica. Unless it's you she needs. In which case, I'll have to..."

Sam cut me off by kissing me.

"You come first, Em. Always and forever. You come first." She said those words and then laced her fingers with mine.

I took a moment to let that sink in before I spoke, "I can't believe this is real."

"It is though, Em. Right? This is real," she said meeting my eyes.

"Yes, Chica. More real than anything I have ever known."

The rap at the window was a bit louder and more rapid. Sam broke our stare to look up and then asked me with her eyes if it was okay. I nodded. Sam waved for Celia to come.

I heard the patio door slide open, just a crack.

"Terribly sorry to disturb you, Love, but you've been both naked for hours, unprotected, in the sun." Celia informed us and then slid the patio door shut.

We simultaneously uttered the word "shit" before Sam jumped to her feet and pulled me up, once again, bumping breasts to breasts.

"I love you, Baby," she said with her forehead tilted against my forehead.

"I love you, Chica."

"Okay," she said before grabbing my hand. "Let's get the fuck out of the sun. I'm a ginger for God's sake!"

I let her lead me out of the sun, away from that perfect moment in time, and into the king size bed. There she knelt on the bed above me, lifted my leg and aligned her ache with mine. While hugging my leg, licking my calf, Sam began to slowly, rhythmically, rotate her hips.

I lay back and watched her every movement, drank her in like fine wine. She was like the first scent of morning dew; like that moment of awe you experience looking up at a clear night sky; like a field of wild- flowers flowing freely in a summer breeze. I studied her every move. I watched her sculpted, bulbous ass, her thick—now slightly reddened—thighs, roll in and roll out; I watched her stomach stretch and contract with every rolling action; I watched her breasts jiggle, and I was jealous of her strawberry locks that hung loosely about her; I watched her. And when I saw her eyelids, closed, I saw her as art in motion—as an angel above me.

The sweet scent of sex and sweat wafted beneath my nostrils, heightening my awareness, like smelling salts. The sound of our love juices meshing was as the lake wakes lapping the shoreline. I felt the climax rising and I did everything I could to resist; I didn't want it to end. Sam's hips rolled faster, her head fell back, her strawberry locks hung from her flushed face like an ever-flowing fountain. I resisted but Sam was licentious; she epitomized sensuality. I felt the familiar ebullient rumblings and I couldn't hold off anymore. I began to buck and to scream. I felt Sam hug my leg and she rode me like a fucking bucking-bronco queen. We came, screaming, not a smidge of self consciousness, completely unrestrained, libertine.

Sam remained above me, hugging and kissing my leg, until the waves in our loins calmed. She then fell into the bed and we lay side by side, on our backs, catching our breath, as our pinkies intertwined.

When I woke, I was alone in the king size bed. It was dark all around me and I felt a pang of panic as I and as I wondered if I'd dreamt everything. That thought pumped copious amounts of sadness into my veins, that congregated in my chest, weighing it down. A frown formed on my worried face and I felt a tear well.

I sat up and looked around, holding a sheet up across my breasts. I saw no one. I slid my legs to the side of the bed and pulled the sheet off, wrapping myself in it. I stood and it was then I knew it hadn't been a dream. I felt her between my legs as if she were still there. I dropped the sheet and walked to the washroom, smiling, hoping to find her there.

But she wasn't. I was surprised, but I didn't feel disappointment. Instead, I felt a comfort in knowing she felt at ease leaving me alone in her home. As I showered, I allowed the memories of the past two days to rise. I had never felt so deliciously happy.

I turned off the shower and wrapped myself in one of those plush rose towels and then brushed my teeth. I found a blow dryer and her makeup and took the liberty of using them without permission. I smiled at my reflection and then walked back into the bedroom. The lights were now on, though dim. Hanging on the rolling cart was a black, sleeveless, satin gown and on the—now made—king size bed, was a gift-wrapped box with a note on it.

"Dear Em. I have taken the liberty of having dinner prepared. I hope you don't mind. I also took the liberty of choosing this dress for you. I know, it's over the top, but I so want to see you in it. The gift is for you, from me. I hope you love it as I do you. Chica."

I smiled and held the note to my chest, breathing in the beauty of the moment before I reached for the gift.

It was wrapped in gold paper with a rose ribbon around it that I quickly ripped off. Inside was a necklace and matching earrings, I learned later were real diamonds, not zirconia fakes. I released a squeal and then put them on before I slipped on the dress. I then ran to the washroom to look at myself, holding up the too long dress with my hands as I scurried along. I was standing there, admiring my self in the mirror, when I heard Celia's voice over the speaker.

"Excuse me, Emily."

"Yes?"

"Drinks will be served in fifteen minutes in the lounge; is there anything else I can get you?"

I thought for a few seconds before I answered.

"Celia, I want to give Sam a gift, but I haven't time to shop and..."

"Ask and it will be." Celia said, cutting me off.

"I'm not even sure I know what to buy her yet...she has everything." I said while I adjusted my dress in the mirror.

"Pardon me if I'm speaking out of place but, you do know what pleases her most, and money has nothing to with it."

"Oh, geez. I'm not sure she, nor I, want to have anyone else join us tonight, or maybe never again, I mean, we're in love."

Celia giggled before responding, "I don't know you well, Emily, but I know Sam...very well. Even when she's in love she wants more."

"What do you mean by, 'even when she's in love'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. Surely you don't think you her first or only love?"

Celia's tone was condescending. Her words hurt. I paused to think before I answered. My mind was suddenly flashing through the past couple of days trying to pull up the red flags. I then remembered Celia calling Sam "Love" and I felt a little sick to my stomach.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, Celia. Maybe you're jealous. Maybe you're being protective. I don't know but I do know that I love Sam and that she loves me."

"Oh Hun, don't believe me? Why don't you look for yourself, Em? Sam keeps a diary—a journal—in her top drawer. You'd be a fool not to read it. Sam said for me to let you know she expects you for drinks in 15 minutes. Dinner will follow in the dining room. I've left a map of the house on the bed. Should you need anything else—decide you'd like to give her a gift she'd love after all—or whatever, you can call out my name and I'll answer."

"Were you watching us? On the deck? In the bed? Making love? Were you watching us?" The words were out of my mouth as if they had a mind of their own. They slipped out and I wished I could take them back. I didn't want to hear Celia's answer.

"Yes."

I felt a tear welling; any other time I've no doubt I'd have broke down in an ugly cry. But, I didn't want to give Celia the satisfaction. I pinched my hip to take my mind off the heart pain and managed to say, "That will be all Celia."

"As you wish, Em."

I stood staring at my foolish self debating whether I would go for another Sam ride or take my memories and run. Reading her diary wasn't considered. Yet, my feet were rapidly walking toward her drawers, my arm was reaching out for the handle and my hand gripped it and pulled open the top drawer.

I was now staring at a rose-coloured book with the inscription "I'll be me, whatever else would I be."

I slammed the drawer shut and turned. Holding my dress up with both hands, I stomped toward the door. I reached out for the handle but dropped my hand before I touched it.

I turned and headed back for the dresser.

The next thing I remember, I was sitting on the king size bed reading Sam's diary.