Pillow Talk

Erotic Tales

Nothing

I am not certain how it all came to an end.

… and perhaps that is not entirely true.

Perhaps I always knew it would.

Our story had been one of so many layers and passions. The stuff that movies are made of. Some clichés and some unique to us. All of it wrapped up in a wonderful sense of having found that lost soul mate. The one. That elusive other half.

It had started a year ago. I had been at the office and flirting outrageously with a colleague of mine and a little flustered from it all. I had returned to my desk to try and get some work done between cheeky e-mails and visits to his cubicle, when I heard the most lovely voice. I stood up and peered above the partition to see where it was coming from… this lovely lilt between English and French.

At first all I saw was glorious hair. Dark, black, lazy curls, white hairs giving it that suave and debonair feel so many find charming, including myself. He was talking to that colleague I had been flirting with so I invited myself over. As I approached he left, almost walking into me. Damn he smelled good. He excused himself with a light laugh and sauntered off. I sat myself down in my colleague’s spare chair and said “Who the fuck was that?”. He laughed nervously. Teetering between having fun with my obvious interest and feeling – what seemed to be – suddenly threatened. I didn’t care. I wanted answers.

Turns out we did a lot of the same things. Worked out at the same gym, had tea at the same coffee house and enjoyed the same events. After my colleague introduced us I had a reason to approach him. We spoke…. and spoke… and spoke. It was as if everyone else became inconsequential. It was like a thousand conversations that had been secretly dormant awoke at last with the sound of his voice and interest – finally I had a person to hear and so it gushed. We would talk about everything and nothing. More often something. Politics, art, work, health and nutrition and of our anxieties and dreams. We laughed, we got animated and passionate. We lost track of time to our employers’ annoyance.

People started talking but we didn’t care. After all “nothing” was going on between us.

Then one sunny day, when I was off but he had to work, I surprised him with a picnic. “Oh come on … you have to eat!“ I had said. He’d agreed as long as we did keep an eye on the time. That day everything changed. I stopped being the hunter and just inexplicably allowed myself to just … be. I opened up to him like a desert flower to sudden rain. He fell in love.

We fought it. Our situation was one that did not bode well for us. But the genuine affection, immense compatibility and simple joy we had in being in each others presence had been too much for us to resist. We succumbed and fell further and further. Months of hiding, whispering, teasing and intense love making. Moments of heady delight followed by deep sorrow. An emotional rollercoaster that drove us to insanity and fed our need to feel alive.

For a time we soared above it all. With the bright promise of a better future and then – the day it all crashed. The day he went back to her. Her depression a more binding set of chains than our love could free him from. He had to care for her… that day he gave up on life and chose death. That day his misplaced loyalty made him choose an existence of silent misery. That day I stopped respecting him. That day my heart broke forever.

Now here we are

… face to face.

For the last time.

I sit on the bed uncertain – a first in your presence. I am not sure why I am here. I am not sure why I agreed to this. The pain in my chest so intense I am convinced that you can see my heart actually bleeding there, leaving a pool of red hot blood at your feet. I feel like a sacrifice.

You are awkward but somehow determined to have this “farewell love making”. Your hand reaches out and caresses my face. I sob at the feelings that surge forward. I hold that hand in place. Not wanting to let go yet hating it at the same time, remembering how much joy that gesture had provided only days ago. Your fingers wash away my tears. Your own eyes shedding their fair share.

You hold me then, tightly to you. I pound my fist angrily over and over leaving a bruise above your heart. You let me. You deserve it. I cry out your name in a lament, I kiss you, bite your lip so hard it bleeds. You take it. I pull your t-shirt off above your shoulders. I look at this body I have come to love and adore. My heart shatters anew as I realize that I shall never touch it, caress it and have it’s weight crush my breasts again.

I pull off my own blouse. You reach for me. Pull me towards you. You whisper in my ear words I do not whish to hear. No… I will not forgive you. Not now. Not now. Your caress is familiar and my body responds. I feel betrayed by it. My heart screams at my body:

“ How can you let yourself feel this way, how can you want him when he doesn’t want me!?”

You lay me down. I let you kiss me, your hands and lips know what to do. You know every button to push and every caress that will elicit a response. You have become the expert driver of my pleasuring. I close my eyes and try to block out the pain. I can’t.

I let you do this. To punish myself for letting the fool within believe. For falling for it all. For the false hope I clung to. Letting you do this is like flagellation. I let you. I let you ease your finger into me, I let you take your time tasting the freshness of my young cunt. I let you drive your tongue into the lump of my clitoris and let you feel my hips instantly jerk with abandon.

I let you push me to my hands and knees. I feel you behind me. I let you bring the flared shaft up to the moist lips. With your steady, even drive I let you enter me for the last time. I let your hands cup my swaying breasts and I work your cock at a steady rhythm. The inner walls shudder with the final betrayal of my body, as an orgasm floods me.

But you are not done. My punishment for my folly not over. You throw all your weight behind each jamming thrust. At last, on a river of jerking, pumping, heaving climax …. It is over.

We lay for a time frozen in place. As you hold me to you. Falling on our sides, my face buried in your chest, you say the last words that hit the final nail in the coffin. “I love you”.

With that you get up, dress and walk away towards the hotel door. You stop, looking back. Tears in your eyes you mumble “I’m so sorry”. And you leave.

Lying on the bed, I almost feel like I’ve just let you rape me. My self respect shattered, my heart never to be fixed. At first nothing. No more tears. Then as I feel the last residue of your juices leak out like a last bitter farewell a wail of agony rips through my throat and the tears freely flow from me. I am broken, pathetic and alone. The crisp white sheets of the hotel bed suddenly a thousand knives slicing my skin and soul. This once joyous place of reunion now a prison of shame.

I was the other woman. Now … I am nothing.

© Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or
duplication of this material without express and written permission
from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts
and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to
Fantasia Lillith and Pillow Talk with appropriate and specific
direction to the original content.

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August 3, 2009 - Posted by | erotica, Sensual | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

30 Comments »

  1. Oh. How heart wrenching. That oh so numbing feeling of losing everything including your soul…or at least half of it. And when that half goes, the other half is left with a desperate void…nothing. Such agony I wouldn’t wish on anyone but it happens. I hope this didn’t happen to you, Fantasia, and that the story is a creation – but with such intense emotion and intricate writing its difficult to tell.

    Comment by Silia | August 3, 2009 | Reply

    • Silia, the compliment here is a big one, for that I thank you. No this did not happen to me – not this way. I have experienced this level of loss/betrayal/rejection and used that to write this story. I found a lot of work and discussion is done from the betrayed wife perspective, or from the man’s perspective. But was shocked at how little there is out there regarding the “other woman” and her humanness. The Mistress it seems remains this dirty, evil person only. I felt compelled to write the emotional side of that situation for her as well. Not endorsing any of the behaviour. We all have our moral quagmires and values to live with. But it felt good to give ‘her” a voice.

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 3, 2009 | Reply

      • While pondering…I wondered…why is there no male equivalent to “Mistress”? Is it more acceptable to those on their moral high horse for a man to be with a married woman?

        Comment by Silia | August 4, 2009

      • Silia … THAT is a brilliant (yes brilliant you read correctly) observation. I had not noticed or thought of that. Speaks volumes doesn’t it? Is there a female word for cockled? It’s amazing how this double standard is still so pervasive and ingrained. We do not deal with things from an individual, case by case, perspective. There are so many social/economic/religious reasons behind this that we could go on and on. But I wanted to tell you that I found your observation to be very astute. If you had seen some of the comments I received personally on this story – not about my skill as a writer – but about the subject…. Including one disturbing one that included (I am giving a sanitized edition) something along the lines of “The f___ Bitch deserves her hell”. I understand the pain behind the words – what I also notice is the lack of compassion for all involved. I think until you’ve been on both sides of the fence you can’t judge. Once again – we look at love as ownership of the other. I believe that the crux of the matter is there.

        Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 5, 2009

  2. I heard her…loud and clear
    Love….shall W/we say: SUCKS!

    Comment by siranneal | August 3, 2009 | Reply

    • siranneal – yes it can suck (pun intended?) but as my favourite poem says:

      “…Neither be cynical about love for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.” – Desiderata by M. Ehermann (1927)

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 3, 2009 | Reply

  3. The other woman! What a stupid concept.
    Love so intense always comes with its own self-destruct mechanism. We have to be wary of our happy moments because they are often followed by a tide of sadness. We have to run treacherous currents and stay afloat. Then, every once in a while, we find peace, live in hope and count our blessings.
    Fantasia, take care of yourself… you know that yours is my personal triumph:-)

    Comment by abufares | August 3, 2009 | Reply

    • The highs are worth the lows – but at times we long for the comfort of that happy medium.

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 3, 2009 | Reply

  4. not real? seems like it almost could have been. i like the picnic… adds to the connection. 😉

    Comment by diirrty | August 3, 2009 | Reply

    • Thank you! It is based on reality. Just not … THE reality.

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 3, 2009 | Reply

  5. to transgress. still.

    Comment by mediatedviscera | August 3, 2009 | Reply

    • Somewhat cryptic comment … love how open to interpretation it is. Great site you have by the way. Interesting reading!

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 5, 2009 | Reply

  6. Yes..and like a fine perennial lawn..a weed blows in from next door and ruins it, and then we have to spray for weeds, fertilize, and pull the culprit!
    Oops…forgot to say great post! Looking forward to your next one.

    Comment by SirAnneal | August 4, 2009 | Reply

    • What a “glass half empty” perspective! You see … I am a gardner and yes weeds blow in – but the thing is I also have gems in my garden that I know I did not plant. The wind, the animals brought them there. You have to take the good with the bad. In fact without the weeds … would I appreciate the other gifts as much? But to your point – it takes maintenance!!!

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 5, 2009 | Reply

  7. That was amazing – the way you created such an erotic roller-coaster ride in just a few paragraphs – thank you.

    Comment by wifegonebad | August 4, 2009 | Reply

    • Wifegonebad – you are welcome! It was a challenge this one.

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 5, 2009 | Reply

  8. Hey! I adore the poetry of your words, the psychological construct of your situation. VERY deep. Keep it up, I check your stuff regularly (I see you check mine too! Thanks!)… I was thinking of putting up your site on my list of links on my blog, if you want to put mine? http://www.lexisylver.com/. Talk to you soon!

    Comment by lexisylver | August 6, 2009 | Reply

    • Lexisylver I have just realised that this page layout doesn’t seem to have a list of links! So I think I’ll have to create one – perhaps in my FAQ section. After all I have a list of books so why not a list of sites! (and yes I will add yours!)

      I think that I am attempting to deal with all that makes us human via our sexual stories. We are sexual beings, and although not as extreme as the Bonobo monkeys (Google them – really it’s fun and informative), I think many of us do use sex as a means to solve problems, run away from others and express ourselves in joy and in some cases sadness. There is more to the act than just the grunting. If it was that alone it would be comical and not beautiful. There is also a lot of ugliness around “sex”. I have shied away from rape and addiction for example. I do think I need a sense of “beauty” for me to be able to write about it. But who knows!

      Shortly I will be launching a little challenge again (The last one came to be known as the “asparagus challenge“!) for my readers – I really do hope you will participate!

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 6, 2009 | Reply

  9. Wow. . very powerful and very heart-rending. Excellent work, and I hope you’ve never been stuck in such a painful situation!

    SK

    Comment by stormkeeper | August 7, 2009 | Reply

  10. Had to say more. . .I wanted to ask you why you capitalized “Beauty” in the tags. . .I know why I do it; I’m wondering why you do *s*

    Also wanted to share a bit of Robert Frost:

    And when to the heart of man
    was it ever less of a treason,
    to bow and accept the end of a love,
    or of a season?

    SK

    Comment by stormkeeper | August 7, 2009 | Reply

    • Sorry to take so long to respond Stormkeeper. That is lovely prose and I wasn’t familiar with it. Thank you for sharing that with me and the others here.

      The story is fiction rest assured although as mentioned to others – it’s based on personal experience of a different nature.

      As for capitalizing Beauty … there are more than one reason. The first being that it’s a spiritual thing for me. But now … what about you?

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 10, 2009 | Reply

      • As for me, it’s the nickname for the lady I write some of my poems and prose for. Aside from being the most internally and externally beautiful woman in the world, she is also, in my eyes, the very personification of the concept of Beauty.

        I’m very sleepy right now, so I hope that explanation made sense! *s*

        SK

        Comment by stormkeeper | August 17, 2009

      • SK – ummm not sure it does but I will say this … she’s lucky to be SEEN that way!

        Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 17, 2009

  11. Fantasia,

    This really moved me, can’t really put it into words.

    Comment by pashun | August 10, 2009 | Reply

  12. Woman… I look at this page. The words. Silent. My eyes are fixed upon the scene I just saw. Like watching something innocent being defiled. Friend… I know this comment has been long overdo but… I haven’t the words.

    The other part of me:

    The man… the so-called one who is sorry – is not and by far displays the worse characteristic a man could have. I want to say… in a way, I guess he considered himself “being honest” and actually having the courage to approach the woman in this piece with some set of balls.

    *Hmmph* Only a man with some balls and thinking of nothing else but himself would even suggestion a last moment such as this. I sincerely hope the man in the piece remembers what he caused her, did to her forever… I hope it eats away his spirit like a blaze burning the final near individuals chips of ash. See what your writing has done? I’m actual mad at a man that doesn’t even exist … I hope … in your life.

    He didn’t deserve the beauty. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction… not that way. First time in my life… I actually feel disgusted by the mentality we have as men.

    Note to Fantasia: You can’t tell me, not even with a straight face if you and I were to cross paths, that this gift of writing … isn’t meant for you, my dear friend.

    Comment by Jeraud Craig | August 25, 2009 | Reply

    • I am sorry I have taken so long to respond to your comment. But you see, you’ve really touched me with what you wrote.

      The greatest gift as a writer is to know that what you’ve written made someone, at the very least, pause and reflect a moment. Your reaction is one that tells me that “Nothing” did this to you. As I evolve in my craft – it’s moments like these – that make the instances of frustration, the fear of failure, the writers block and hours of staring at a blank page worth it.

      Rest assured that this is fiction. It did not happen. I did however, use the “anguish” of another experience to tap into that emotional and try to capture it. This was probably the most difficult story I’ve written.

      Thank you for your support, your true interest and your lovely, heartfelt comment. I appreciate it. Truly.

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | August 27, 2009 | Reply

  13. I’m dealing with having been “the other woman”. it’s not an easy place to be. in fact, recovering from it is the loneliest i have ever felt.
    I’ve been left behind as “disposable”.

    Comment by Heartbroken OW | September 3, 2009 | Reply

    • I am sorry for your pain. I am assuming that by your leaving a comment I managed to capture the essence of that well?
      The other woman is never given enough of a voice. She is not evil. Hope you find joy soon.

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | September 4, 2009 | Reply

  14. http://www.womensinfidelity.com/

    read it. It’s all I can say. I did and it changed a LOT of things for me. Worth every single penny.

    “After researching women’s sexuality for more than ten years, I can honestly say that most of our societal beliefs about females are grossly distorted and many are completely erroneous.”

    -Michelle Langley, author of Women’s Infidelity

    Comment by Fantasia Lillith | September 7, 2009 | Reply


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