Chapter 1

I took one last sip of cold water from the bottle before stepping out of the car. Trepidation and hope whirled in my head in a spiral of confusion. I could feel the tightness of the conflict in my body — the hunched shoulders, constricted chest, and knot in the belly. I was of half a mind to get back in the car and drive back to my hotel, despite the two hours it took me to get to there in the first place. However, determined as I was to see myself through the visit, I waited for the feeling to pass, taking a few deep breaths to release the tension.

The two-storied house at the end of the cul-de-sac was the last in a row of houses. The houses along the road that I had passed by were threatening to float away in the shimmering heat waves that enveloped them in hot, vapory sheaths. The houses were set along on side of the winding road that ran along the length of the small hill, midway between the crest and foot of the hill. They sat on the side that sloped downwards, front doors facing the road, and the fenced back yards skirted the foot of the hill along its length. Beyond the fences, there was a thicket of trees on gently undulating fields, with a stream winding its way through the woods. Further beyond, the city lay in the distance, with the few skyscrapers of the business district appearing like fractured columns in the smothering haze of midsummer. Farther away still, vague lines on the horizon suggested the mountain ranges that formed the backdrop to the plains.

On the other side of the road, the hill continued its gentle rise to a flat plateau at the summit, leveling off to a horizon of cloudless, blue sky. The land between the road and the crest was an empty stretch, with a few sulking trees here and there amidst an expanse of grass gone brown in the heat. The dull roar of the traffic from the highway that lay beyond the other side of the hill came up intermittently on the occasional breeze. The only other sound was the chirping of a cicada hiding under a rock somewhere. In the stillness of the afternoon, the only movement was the occasional rustling of the leaves on the trees, as if reluctantly acknowledging the hot breeze that swept through them. Reeling in the heat, I walked the few steps to the door. This was it — I came determined to face up to Sheila. No more hiding from what I had been avoiding all these years. I had to either face up to her, or, wonder forever how things would have turned out if only I had tried. It was more the fear of a hellish future of regret that had finally impelled me on this quixotic quest. I drew up to the front door, clutching the flowers that the hotel had arranged to be delivered in the morning — they were already beginning to wilt. And so was my confidence.

Sheila and I were close at one time — in fact, we were lovers then — but we had not seen each others in years. I wasn't sure how the visit was going to turn out; I wasn't even sure whether I should be there in the first place. But, before I could torture myself further with doubts, the door opened and Sheila surged into my arms, wrapping me in a tight hug, her soft cheek cool against my hot skin. When she lightly kissed my cheek and whispered how glad she was to see me, my troubled mind subsided, lulled by her friendly greeting. The feel of her body and her soothing voice murmuring in my ear rekindled memories of the intimate times we had shared long ago.

I was glad to see her, despite the confusion, doubts and misgivings that had been dogging me through all the years we had been apart, right up to this moment. Her welcome gave me some confidence that, at least the long standing question in my heart would be settled. Win or lose, I would put to rest the distraction of not knowing how she felt about me. That question had been festering me to distraction, preventing me from moving on with my life.

She led me into the comfortingly cool and dark interior of her home, closing the door behind us. We chatted about my drive up as we crossed the spacious living room and the dining area at the end. She took the dozen or so dark red roses and placed them in a vase on the dinner table.

The open, uncluttered living and dining area was tastefully decorated with paintings, objets d'art and plants that were distributed around a few pieces of furniture. A couple of red leather sofas, a large, plush chair (also in leather) with an ottoman in front, and a coffee table in the center marked the living area. Bookshelves along the wall with a stereo and a TV and a few nick-nacks in the shelves added a touch of sophistication to the room. A butcher table with six, solid, cushioned chairs defined the dining area, followed by an island with a marble top to the right. The counter top and the abutting entrance led into the kitchen, which was set off at right angles to the living and dining area. Large French windows at the dining end of the room gave the space a light, airy feeling. Through the gauzy shades that were drawn across the windows one could see a patio, beyond which, the backyard rolled gently down to the wooden fence. The city and the rolling hills were hardly visible from inside. The view from the patio would be even more lovely during spring and fall, and all the more so with the cover of winter snow on the ground.

Sheila went across the room and drew the heavy shades partially across the windows, dimming the light streaming in. I sat down on the sofa, still feeling nervous, but somewhat calmed by her friendliness. She disappeared in to the kitchen, and I could hear glasses clinking and presently she emerged with two tall glasses of lemonade on a tray. Handing me a glass, she sat down opposite me on the chair, her feet propped up on the ottoman

Having settled down, I took the time to study her, comparing her appearance to the person I had last seen years ago. She wore a light maroon skirt and a yellow sleeveless blouse — casual, yet stylish — accentuating her slim, athletic figure. Physically, she looked as fit as ever, except for her hair which she now wore clipped and short, giving her face an openness that was all the more alluring. Her demeanor had certainly changed — she seemed more at ease, as if she had settled into herself. I couldn't detect any nervousness or anxiety in her, in comparison to my agitated state of mind. Her luminous eyes still held that lively, mischievous sparkle that had so captivated me when I first met her.

When I complimented her figure and mentioned that she seemed more relaxed, she smiled and responded that I appeared to have mellowed down as well. It was reassuring that our first appraisal of each other was favorable. In fact, favorable enough that my troubled memories of the events that led to our parting began to recede into the background. A slender thread of hope that she might be ready to "forgive and forget" the offense I had caused her years ago started to take root.

During the years of our separation I had wracked my brain for ways to make amends with her and engineer a rapprochement. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to even call her. Perhaps I was too scared to lose what little contact I had with her, or not mature enough to reach out, or, perhaps saw it as a lost cause not worth pursuing. Whatever the reasons, we had not talked, even on the phone, for the last two years. But, hearing her, it was obvious that the years apart from each other had diminished whatever misgivings or apprehensions we had towards each other and that the connection we felt towards each other was intact.

Sheila and I met for the first time at a party hosted by a mutual friend in the Southern city that I had just moved to. She was getting past a break up and I was just beginning to make a few friends. As we talked, we found that we enjoyed the same kind of movies, the kind that people would consider too arty or weird. That was just the beginning. We seemed to share an amazing number of interests: NYT on Sundays, tea, working out, biking and hiking; and hole in the wall ethnic restaurants. Flirting came easily, without any sense of inhibition or shyness, and, as the party broke up, we exchanged phone numbers before leaving, promising to call each other. Unable to contain myself I called her the next day and we spoke for two hours on the phone. Soon we were spending most of our weekends with each other and spending a fair amount of time on the phone every day. We could talk about any subject under the sun, including our past lovers and experiences, and we seemed to understand and respect each other.

Our friendship grew over the months, but neither of us wanted to make that move which would take it to the next level of intimacy, even if the mutual attraction was quite palpable. And then one weekend, when she came over to my place, I was feeling upset over some silly quarrel with my parents on the phone. She sat and listened to me vent and then just leaned over and hugged and held me gently, without saying anything. After a while, when she made to break, I pulled her back, not wanting her to lose the warmth of her touch, the comfort of having her close by. The kiss that followed came naturally — we even took to calling it as the "kiss of truth." We must have sat there kissing each other without saying a word for an hour, relishing this transition, before she made the move. When I felt her hand on my crotch, I got up and, wordlessly started taking her shirt off. We were then running to my bedroom, taking off clothes along the way, laughing and giggling. When we got there, we fell into bed and fucked ourselves into a frenzied orgasm. That was how we became lovers.

She was a refreshing change from all my previous lovers — imaginative and passionate in everything she did. We were together every chance we could; her friends started complaining that she was abandoning them. When it came to making love, she loved oral sex, just like I did. Our lovemaking was like play, like an adventurous exploration of new territories and interiors that we didn't know existed. She taught me a few things: the delicate art of fingernails digging into skin, enough to leave marks without causing much pain. I helped her discover the erotic pleasure of a wet tongue gently swabbing and probing the ear. Freed at last, our mutual erotic desires bloomed to reveal hidden secrets that we had sheltered from our previous lovers. Slowly we were admitting to more and more risqué desires. After a couple of years, we were even beginning to discuss marriage, even though neither of us were interested in starting a family. I was looking forward to having her in my life for a long time, even if not in the "till death do us apart" manner and all that.

But, that's not how things turned out.

Three years after I met her, Sheila received a job offer from an out of state research organization that was well respected. In addition, they offered to pay the tuition fees towards the part time graduate program at the nearby University. Naturally, she took it and moved, with the intention us getting back together at the first opportunity that either one of us got to move. I had come up once to help her settle in. We had kept in touch over the phone, but over the last several years these diminished to calls on birthdays and year end exchange of greetings and polite pleasantries. And then, about three months ago, I was offered a transfer to the regional office located in a smaller town not too far from the city that she lived in. The transfer came with a promotion and a hefty raise which in itself was reason enough to accept it. That it was close to hers made it all the more attractive, despite the apprehension I felt about meeting her and stirring up a hornet's nest of disappointments that was better left alone.

I called and told Sheila about the offer two months ago, expecting no more than a polite congratulation. However, I was surprised by her seemingly genuine excitement over the news. She said that she had been thinking about calling me lately. She made me promise that I would visit her before settling down into my new office. Since I had a couple of weeks off to pack up, relocate, and find a place to live before I started in my new position, I readily agreed and we decided to meet up on the first Saturday after I reached here.

But, after I hung up, the doubts resurfaced. Was she genuinely interested in rebuilding our old relationship, or, was she being merely polite to an old friend? I had to do to find out where she and I stood, which meant I had to meet her face to face. Regardless of what her motivations were, I had to find out and that's what I resolved to do. The reason behind our separation and how I had precipitated it made me nervous about the whole idea of bringing it all up with her again. But it had to be done...

The revelation that I made before she moved marked the beginning of the end of our relationship. We were both worried about the challenges of maintaining our relationship over the long distance, both of us fretting over the hardships and frustrations of such an arrangement. But, we were confident that the strong physical and emotional bond we shared would help us work through those difficulties. Both of us felt that the trust and affection we had built over the years was strong enough for us to persevere despite the challenges. But, we were to be proved wrong even before she moved. Our bond was not as rock solid as we had thought, but a slender web that would be broken by one strong gust of disagreement. That the ill wind blew was my fault — I had rushed the situation and told her things that were inappropriate. And I had lived with the regret of that deed all these years.

A week or so before her move, we were in bed, after having made love, talking about how connected we were to each other, more so than even with our families ... But, I knew that there were things about myself I had kept away from her — things that I wanted her to know, but was afraid to talk about. I wasn't sure when I'd get a chance to tell her. Since we were telling each other how our mutual feeling ran so deep that nothing could break it, I felt I could tell her my secret. That's what started it all — the desire to be true about myself. But, it was the wrong moment for such an admission.

I told her that I had held back on one of my interests and that it'd be better if she knew of it. When she asked me what it was, I confided to her my kinky "interest." She seemed taken aback. After a brief silence, she mumbled that it was not the time to talk about it. Suddenly the conversation came to an abrupt, uneasy halt, all the mutual rah-rahs of a moment ago completely forgotten. Although I wanted to ask her if I had offended her, I felt hesitant and nervous to pursue the topic again, thinking it best to let her respond in her own time. And she never brought it up in any of our subsequent conversations. A week later she was gone. We kept in touch over the phone, but the conversations seemed strained, as if we were making an effort.

A month after she moved, I flew up to visit her as originally planned. I helped her unpack, and put her things together. But, our relationship was stained. When we made love, it seemed out of a sense of duty. Every time we talked, it turned to the difficulties of managing a long distance relationship. I took the gist of it to mean that she was not too keen on continuing our relationship. It seemed to me that neither of us wanted to face up to the real reason -— that she didn't like me for what I had told her. So, I suggested that it might be best for us to stay friends than continue on as lovers. Even though she seemed surprised at first, she didn't disagree. That she didn't feel strongly was further proof to me that she was put off. We didn't talk about it and the next morning I returned home. Thereafter, our communication dwindled to the New Year and birthday cards we exchanged dutifully, barely maintaining a connection.

During the years since we broke up, I had often wondered if our relationship might have turned out for the better had I not told her about my secret desire. Why did I rush into it? Why didn't I just wait a little longer? Why did I strongly seek her approval? Why, after we had decided to stop being lovers, couldn't I just let go of her? Even though I tried hard, I just couldn't stop thinking of what could've been. On the one hand I didn't see continuing with her if she couldn't accept me for who I was. On the other, I just couldn't forget all the things we shared between us. I just couldn't forget her and move on with my life.

Despite the doubts from the past rumbling about in my head, I could detect nothing but warmth and affection in her bright, cheerful smile as we sat facing each other that day. Our conversation felt easy and comfortable, as if we had never lost touch. She told me for the second time how glad she was that I had moved closer, raising my hopes. Of course, my logical mind was still busy coming up with doubts and questions that brushed aside any hopeful signs. Still, my mind was engaged in relentless tug of war:

Perhaps she forgot my kink altogether? Yeah, right!

Maybe she thought that I had outgrown it, or, won't bring it up again? Get real! Why would she think that? She knows you only too well!

Maybe she missed me and wants us to be lovers again? Hah! Fat chance!!

May be she's interested in a platonic friendship? She probably has friends from all these years here. Why then would she want a platonic relationship, particularly since she holds you in contempt?

May be she was ready to accept my peculiar inclinations? Yeah, remember the look on her face when you made the announcement? That was disgust you dodo!!

The dumbfounded look on Sheila's face at the moment of my "revelation" came to my mind as I sat there sipping the lemonade - I must have smirked.

"Hmmm, so, what's that smirk all about, Bim?" Sheila asked playfully, not missing the fleeting expression on my face.

"Oh, nothing really. I just remembered something funny from our past," I said evasively, avoiding the topic that early in our conversation.

Sheila's eyes narrowed, as if trying to fathom the thoughts lurking in my head. She twirled the glass in her hand, smiling at me rather mischievously, her eyes twinkling as they used to when she had something up her sleeve.

"What's that? Tit for tat?" I needled her.

"Perhaps. But then again maybe not. You'll have to wait to find out," she answered equally evasively, lifting her feet and folding them under her on the chair.

As her legs swung up, the clipped patch of auburn of her mound appeared briefly between her smooth and creamy thighs, before it was covered again by the skirt as it fluttered down. It wasn't surprising that she was bare — both of us liked to walk around nude when we lived together. She liked the freedom and comfort, as well as the naughtiness of not wearing underwear, all the more so when we went out. I took it as another good sign. Sheila noticed my glance and sighed softly.

"You know Bim, we had a good thing going, didn't we?" she sounded wistful.

"No doubt about that Sheel," I said, remembering the intimacy and passion of our lovemaking, "vanilla" though it was.

During the time we were lovers, we were both learning to accept our more "unusual" erotic desires. Sheila was the first of my lovers that I trusted enough to confide in my fantasies. Perhaps I felt at ease with her because she was suggested new areas to explore in everything that we did — from movies, trips, books, even if not that much in our lovemaking. She was curious about what interested me as I was about her. We would discuss things we wanted to try until, egging ourselves into doing it.

In our lovemaking, perhaps we were not as adventurous, but even there our trust was strong enough that we tried a few new things. While adjusted into certain areas easily (such as role plays that we would devise), others took more time. We were somewhat hesitant when it came to sexuality, but we were beginning to explore. Except, of course, for my last suggestion to her which had proved fatal to our relationship. Still, I had missed her spunk and vigor as a lover. It was time to see if things had changed.

"So, how's the love life?" I tried to sound nonchalant, as if merely making polite conversation, while, in fact, I was dreading her reply.

"No boyfriends for the past year, although I do have a couple of good friends who are men that I go out with now and then," She hesitated and then asked somewhat stiffly, "How about you, Bim? Are you breaking anyone's heart by moving here?"

I was relieved to find her in the same boat as I. I told her about the few relationships since our last meeting and how they had fizzled due to various reasons, primarily the lack of shared interests and poor compatibility compared with what I had shared with Sheila. I told her about the decision I took a year ago to not get into another romantic relationship where I could not be open and truthful about my inclinations and interests, and, that, as a result, I hadn't seen anyone since taking it. As I explained, she seemed to lighten up a bit.

"Hmmm. 'Inclinations and interests' — is that it, you naughty boy? Maybe you deserved what you got. Or did not get," She snickered, teasing me.

"Really, am I such a bad boy?" I put on a sad face and we both laughed.

"Well, maybe if you behave, we can share some fun, just like the old times?" Her voice rose at the end.

Was it eagerness I detected in her voice? But, what was that bit about "behaving?" Although I was flattered, I wasn't sure whether she meant what she said, or if it was merely friendly teasing.

"Hmmm. Thanks for the offer Sheel. You're a comfort, as always," I left it at that.

Even though it was tempting, what with my self-imposed exile from the kingdom of love that was now running into its second year, I reminded myself that I was not getting back with her while the unanswered question hung like Democlese's sword over my head. And I wasn't ready to bring it up yet — at least not before I had a feel for her intentions towards me. I certainly wasn't going to rush it like the last time.

Over the next hour, our conversation moved on to other topics: our families and friends, work, books we had read and such. Sheila kept excusing herself, going back in to the kitchen. I wondered if she was preparing something elaborate. We had agreed on a light, early dinner before I drove back. When she came back from the kitchen for the umpteenth time, I had to ask.

"Sheel, what's going on? I thought we were having something light? Are you preparing a five course meal in there?"

"No, no - its basic salad and sandwich and ice cream for dessert. I was just checking the water from the tap — it's been off color ever since the plumber came in yesterday to fix the leak in the water main outside. It seems to be alright now."

Later, we had a simple dinner — a salad with a lemon-vinaigrette dressing and turkey sandwiches, and homed made kahlua ice cream. We reminisced about all our old friends, many of whom were at my going away party, and the changes in their lives: marriages, divorces, children and the ones we had lost touch with. Amidst the easy banter, we ate and drank leisurely into the evening. As we were finishing up, she brought out the pitcher and emptied the last of the lemonade into our glasses.

"That's the last of it, Bim. The water from the tap here still seems no good. I should've bought a bottle of spring water, just in case. But, that shouldn't be a problem, I have a bottle of wine."

When I offered to run down to the supermarket down the road, she turned me down, saying she'd get it in the morning. Besides, since there was orange juice in the fridge, it should tide us over. She suggested that I stay overnight unless I was in a hurry to get back to my unpacking.

It was the Friday evening of a long weekend. I felt comfortable with the way things had progressed thus far. Although not a conclusive signal, that she wanted me to stay over was indeed a positive sign. The extra time meant that I could go with the flow — let things proceed at a natural pace. There was time enough to find an apartment and unpack before I started at the new office. I agreed, my hopes growing stronger by the moment.

After clearing the table, Sheila opened the curtains. The sun was not quite down yet, but the horizon was turning crimson. We went back to the sofa and chair where we sat sipping the wine, continuing to catch up on the "lost years." Sheila began to fidget and shift around in the chair. I asked her if she was okay, but she just smiled, shaking her head, brushing aside my concern. After another glass of wine, I began to feel a little thirsty, what with the dry salad and sandwich.

"I'll help myself to some of that juice," I said as I stood up.

"Go ahead. You know where it is. Get me a glass too, if you don't mind."

I went into the kitchen and took the orange juice from the fridge. It smelled bad when I opened it. It was a few days past the expiration date and so I emptied the carton into the sink. I checked the fridge again, but there was nothing else in there — no milk, no juice, and certainly no water. I checked the tap water and it seemed alright, but decided that Sheila knew better. I gave her the news about the juice and offered again to go to the store to get some water and milk.

"No, no Bim. Wait here. I'll be back," she was insistent as she went in to the kitchen and I heard the tap running.

The sun was setting in the distance and the room was flooded with a reddish light. I was examining the books on the book shelf when she returned. She handed me a glass of water. It was warm to the touch. I looked at her, puzzled.

"It's safe!" she gave me a reassuring look and smiled, standing by me next to the sofa, wine glass in hand.

"Boiled water!" my mind surmised.

But when I raised the glass to my lips, I detected a familiar aroma. I glanced at Sheila. She stood there looking into my eyes, her face blank. I brought the glass back up to my nostril, and then I was sure! I felt dizzy with confusion and shock!! It couldn't be! I must have looked comical, because she was smirking again.

"Sheel? Is this? I mean..." my voice trailed off into a helpless croak.

Her eyes glinted with the old mischief. But, there was also a hint of hesitation when she nodded her head. I was completely taken aback by the turn of events. Sheila watched me intently, as if wondering what I'd do next. I looked into her eyes as I slowly took a sip from the glass. The warm liquid was lemony. The smell that wafted from the glass was undeniably her musk, the scent of her arousal.

"The lemonade has left its mark Sheel," I commented breathlessly.

"Do you like it?" her voice betrayed nervousness, now receding.

In answer, I raised the glass to my mouth and gulped the rest down.

"May I have some more, please? I'm very thirsty," I said, voice quivering with nervous excitement.

She sighed, relieved, and almost ran to the kitchen and returned with another glass in her hand. She had never looked so happy and radiant!!!

"Will you help me fill these?" she asked, standing in front of me, looking me straight in the eye, as she handed the second glass to me.

Her forthrightness was shockingly delightful. I could only nod my head, having lost my voice altogether, as I began to understand why she had gone to fetch another glass. My heart was pounding violently in my chest, as if it wanted to get out and go thumping around the room.

Sheila twisted around, and unzipping her skirt, let it fall to the ground. My gaze followed the skirt as it slid down her smooth thighs and toned legs, then back up her to her hip, stopping at the well groomed mound. I relived the pleasures of our happier days by a mere glance of her pink, pouty pussy lips, a darker shade along the edges with hints of the deeper pink showing beyond the wet and glistening entrance, the pert clitoris peeking from behind its sheltering hood above it, all topped off by the mound of her clipped pubes. The view of the wet, soft petals of her pussy coupled with the aroma of her musk cast a mesmerizing spell, taking my breath away and making me giddy. I looked back up at her, catching her eyes, glittering with the passion and liveliness that I had so longed for. She picked her skirt up and flung it on the chair.

"God, you are as beautifully dazzling as ever darling," I managed to croak again, finding it difficult to get my voice above a whisper.

I was fast losing any resolve on keeping a strong front anymore. But then again, the resolution to stay aloof and guarded seemed so meaningless, since, with just one gesture, she had skipped past all those questions that my rational mind wanted answers for. Her gestures had rushed my mind past doubts and questions. What was there to be careful about anymore?

Sheila stepped forward and lifting her left foot, rested it on the armrest of the sofa beside me. Sliding forward, I held my now empty glass underneath the fragrant petals of her engorged flower, that object of my resurrected desire. Our eyes locked, hers sparkling and glazed with the naughtiness of what she was about to do. The sight of her standing half naked, about to give me more of her nectar made the anticipation unbearable. I could feel the feverish heat rising from my depths, sweeping across my body. The veins in my neck pulsed hot with the rush of blood, and my heart put out a fierce beat, as if it was about to explode like a nuclear bomb, mushroom cloud and all. I wondered if she could hear it thumping away.