Arriving Home

by William Turney Morris

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Heterosexual, True Story, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Fate pulls two young lovers apart, and they meet up again 37 years later, when fate once again intervenes to give them the life together they had always wanted.

A chair is still a chair
Even when there's no one sittin' there
But a chair is not a house
And a house is not a home
When there's no one there to hold you tight
And no one there you can kiss goodnight
(Hal David / Burt Bacharach){/r}

"G'day, mate, welcome home to Australia," the immigration officer said as he handed my passport back. "Are you home for good?"

"Yeah, decided it was time to move back; eleven years in the US was too long," I replied. "I'm looking forward to some good, cold beer, watching the test cricket, in fact I'm meeting an old girlfriend from years ago, and I'm hoping it will turn out well, if ya know what I mean."

"Sure do. Well, good luck, and welcome home," he said.

I though back to another airport, another country, where I was arriving to start a new life. That time was after my divorce; emigrating to the US to be with my new wife. That hadn't turned out to be one of my better decisions. I remembered another airport, many years before that, saying goodbye to Heather as she flew out of Sydney, and out of my life. I hated airports for many years after that.

The flight from Dallas wasn't too bad – long, of course – fifteen hours on a plane would test the patience of anyone. That wasn't counting the three hours from Jacksonville to Dallas, or the two hours lay over there. Still, as flights go, it was okay; I had a vacant seat next to me, so I could spread out. The food was passable, and as soon as dinner was over, and the lights turned out, I wrapped the blanket around me, put the headphones on and selected the classical music channel, and tried to sleep.

Not that sleep was really possible, of course – contorted into the seat, the sounds of the engines, and announcements from the attendants, other passengers getting up and moving around. I guess I got a few hours sleep, somewhere over the Pacific, and then I tried to freshen up in the bathroom – a shave and a cat lick wash – removing my shirt and using a damp cloth to wipe over my face, chest and underarms. I wanted to make sure I was at my most presentable for Heather.

I collected my suitcases, and then it was to the customs inspection. Not that I was expecting any problems there. Nothing to declare – and I was through in less than fifteen minutes, walking out to the arrivals hall, scanning the waiting crowd for Heather. I couldn't see her within the masses of people – holiday makers excited about finally arriving in Australia; family members greeting returning loved ones; even a few business people. I climbed up on a step to get a better view, still no sight of her.

"Paging a passenger arriving from Dallas on QF15 – could Mr. William Morris come to the passenger information booth between arrival gates 4 and 5? Paging Mr. William Morris, passenger from Dallas on QF15, please come to the passenger information booth," the PA system called out.

"Bugger," I swore under my breath. "I wonder what that's about. Maybe she's got delayed?"

I made my way to the information desk, and waited until the person in front of me at the counter had been served.

"Yes, I'm Mr. Morris, I was just paged," I said.

The woman took a large manila envelope from the desk, and handed it to me.

"A woman dropped this off earlier this morning, and asked that we give it to you," the information desk woman said. "She said everything in there is self-explanatory, and not to worry about anything."

"Ok, thanks," I said. "This woman; what did she look like? Did she leave a name?"

"Oh, in her early 50's, I would guess, shoulder length dark hair, glasses," she replied. "She didn't leave a name, but said that all you would need to know is in that envelop."

I opened the envelope – my name and flight details were written on the outside; I recognized Heather's writing immediately. I wondered what she was up to – I was expecting to meet me, for us to kiss like there was no tomorrow. Then we would go to a nearby hotel that she was going to book for us. It appeared that something had changed her mind. I pulled out the papers inside the envelope, and started to read. There was a typed sheet of instructions, a map fragment and a car rental agreement. I started with the instructions.

Babe, our plans have changed – we aren't staying in a hotel here, I've made other arrangements for our accommodation.
1. Go to the Thrifty car rental booth to pick up the car. Make sure it has a GPS navigation system; the one that I've booked for you does, and you will need that for the next stages.
2. Enter this address into the system:
Rosewood Avenue, Cabarita Beach – there is a roundabout at the intersection of that road and Tweed Coast Road.
3. When you get there, there is a park on the corner, with a geocache hidden there – waypoint name "GCILUVU". You are looking for a camouflaged Tupperware container, hidden in a tree. The coordinates are:
East 153 degrees 34.167 minutes
South 28 degrees 19.847 minutes
You did remember to bring your GPS receiver, didn't you?
4. The cache will contain the next set of instructions. Don't take too long – I'm waiting for you.

I smiled and laughed to myself. She was being rather sneaky and mysterious.

"No problems, I hope?" the woman at the desk asked.

"No, none at all," I replied. "Could you tell me where the Thrifty car rental desk is, by the way?"

She pointed me in the direction of the rental desk, and as I made my way there, I saw her call someone on the phone. Curious, I stopped to listen in, re-reading Heather's instructions as I did.

"This is the passenger information desk at Brisbane airport – you left the package for Mr. Morris to collect," she said. "He's just picked it up now, and has gone to get his car. No, no problems at all, I was just happy to help you – I hope everything works out for the two of you."

I looked around to see if there was anyone filming me; this was starting to appear like a spy thriller, or a "Candid Camera" episode. What was she up to, I wondered?

I collected my car from the rental agency – a fairly new Honda Civic, complete with the very necessary GPS navigation system. I plugged the address into it, and it indicated about a two hour drive for me. Fortunately, I had some change in Australian currency for the tolls.

Over the Gateway Bridge and on the motorway heading back to New South Wales; I kept telling myself "keep to the left, keep to the left". It was a change to hear the local Aussie accents on the radio station – the station was "92.5 Gold FM" – and as the next song started, I recognized Paul Kelly's "To Her Door"; rather appropriate for this situation, even though I wasn't returning after having left her to "dry out". I sang along with Paul:

"He was riding through the cane, in the pouring rain
to her door"

Not that it was raining, of course; it was a beautiful sunny summer's day.

"Walking in slow motion...
Did they have a future?...
Shaking in his seat, riding through the streets
In a silvertop, to her door"

I thought about everything that had happened, since we had met on that weekend, over 37 years ago. It was literally love at first sight, but then fate stepped in, and Heather had to move away, 500 miles from where I lived. A series of events meant we lost contact, we both got married, divorced, remarried, had other relationships, but inside we knew that there was someone else for us.

When twelve months ago we made contact again, the magic between us was still there, but how to realize our dreams? I was living on the other side of the world, married, with commitments, not really able to afford to go through a divorce, sell everything, and make my way back to Australia and start anew. Once again fate stepped in; but this time on our side. I can still recall my mixed feelings when I was called at work by the Sheriff's office; a drunk driver speeding through the red light, a fatal accident, and I was now a widower. Working in the court system, having lots of contacts with attorneys and judges, the case was settled quickly with a generous settlement to compensate me "for my loss", and I did felt guilty, trying to appear devastated, when in reality I was relieved at my new found freedom. Leah, my boss, who knew the full story of my situation, told me not to be so silly.

"Will, you have to look after yourself, do what is in your best interest," she said, when I told her how I felt guilty taking the multi-million dollar settlement. "You of all people deserve to be happy, to be with who you really love. Now don't let me hear you being morose like that. Life has dealt you a good hand after all of the shit you've had to put up with, take advantage of it; go back to Australia, to the woman who loves you and life happily ever after."

Leah was an incurable romantic, but what she said was completely true. The house sold quickly, certainly faster than I had expected in the current market, and I arranged an international moving company to pack up and ship most of my possessions, the furniture, and all the things that we would need to set up a house together in Australia. All I had with me were two suitcases of clothes that would have to last until the main container arrived in a few weeks.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Heterosexual / True Story /