by Lori

The Dark One has been a regular presence in my life these past few weeks, for which I am eternally grateful. He's always given me such freedom to be whatever I want, whomever I want, worshipping and appreciating every mood, every emotion, every persona.

Originally, he was to leave for Florida in a couple weeks -- and only for a few days.

Originally.

On Friday night, I found out that he was leaving sooner than that. Sooner as in ... today. Not only that, he won't be back for at least 6 weeks -- if ever.

I'm afraid that I don't hold a candle to the warm, salt air of Ft. Lauderdale, not when the beach has always been his center, the place where he goes to refresh himself. It is where his heart is and he felt that he needed to get centered again. What else could I do but support him?

Friday night, we'd made plans to meet ... for the last time in at least six weeks, maybe forever, although (oddly enough) he wouldn't acknowledge the forever possibility. I won't allow my heart to NOT consider it.

For the past few weeks, we've been nothing more than "special friends", bed mates, which is fine. Admittedly, I have feelings for the man -- nothing that I will allow myself to pursue. It's pointless. We're not ready for each other yet.

I'd gotten to his house around 9:30 and, much to my surprise, there was a small party going on. I was slightly disappointed that we wouldn't be going straight to his bed, as I was quite horny (for one) and, for two, I selfishly wanted him all to myself. This was, after all, our last night together.

With James, I've always allowed Fate to rule our time together. Friday night was no different. When I arrived, there was no welcoming embrace, although we were quickly ensconced in the kitchen where he poured me a tequila shot and we simply drank to "Later," like we always do. He grabbed me a beer and I'd mentioned that I hadn't eaten and had to watch my alcohol intake; so, he warmed me up some steak and vegetables that he'd prepared earlier and it was the best steak I've ever had in my entire life.

While I ate, he sat with me and we talked about recent events in both our lives. He'd even shared childhood stories with me. After I ate, he cleared the table and led me out onto the deck where everyone else was and we found a seat on the steps that led down to the inground pool.

The entire night, he didn't leave my side or really even talk to anyone else, which surprised me. The night was hot and humid and the pool was calling to us. I didn't have a bathing suit and I wasn't drunk enough to swim in my thong or less. He offered me a pair of shorts and we went to his room to change.

I'd already had two beers and a shot and was feeling a little of a buzz and I could feel my inhibitions lower by the moment. Or maybe it was just the nearness of him. I don't know which.

Not paying attention to him, I removed my slacks to put on the shorts and he groaned appreciatively. I slipped out of my thongs and stood before him, bottomless, and his eyes never left me. We were both doing a pretty good job of controlling ourselves as we'd already agreed to no freakiness until the party died down. (Although that didn't mean that I couldn't taunt him at every opportunity, right?)

I put on the shorts and removed my top and I'd swear that his eyes rolled into the back of his head. I was planning on wearing just my bra when he offered me a shirt, the white wifebeater off of his back. I put on the shirt and watched him as he changed, his manhood hard, commanding my attention. His jean shorts were ripped in all the right places, which he'd made a joke about, and I had to see just what I could get my hands on, reaching through the rips. Apparently, quite a handful. I started to stroke him, teasing, and then I stopped to remind him that we were going to go swimming and turned to walk out of the room.

I remembered that I hadn't been greeted properly up to this point and turned to face him again to point this fact out. My intention was to get a quick hug and kiss and then go swimming. That was my intention anyway.

He pulled me into this incredible hug and then tilted my face to his, bringing his lips down to gently kiss me. We held the kiss for a moment too long and I slipped the tip of my tongue into his mouth to explore. The moment my tongue touched his, he lost all control and there was no stopping our desire.

Our clothes were gone before we knew it and he brought me down to the bed, not breaking the kiss. His hands devoured me; and, after spreading my legs, his mouth did the same.

We made love fiercely, passionately and my orgasm gripped him inside me like a vise. He withdrew from me, releasing his heat onto my chest and stomach. After cleaning up, we dressed and made our way to the pool to cool off. On the way outside, he chuckled and said "Ya know, I was planning on just giving you a kiss and a hug; but, then your tongue was in my mouth and that was it."

We swam and played in the pool, hugging and kissing. As we finished our swim, we noticed that the party had moved inside; so, he wrapped my towel around me, before wrapping his around his waist and we sat on the deck steps, talking for well over an hour.

At one point, he pulled a big fatty roach from his cigarette pack, sparked it, and then offered it to me, holding it in his hand. I hadn't smoked in ages; but, I couldn't resist. I'd never been high while with him and I was curious to see how it would affect our lovemaking; but, more on that later.

Once the pot kicked in, our conversation crossed that imaginary line into feelings and emotions. For a little while, I've been curious as to what he saw in me, if anything, or if I was just a nameless, faceless "piece" to him. He'd never made me feel like that. It's just that I'd been down on myself as of late and I transferred that on to him. I tried not to, and he gave me no reason to -- just me being the emotional person that I am. I turned to him and asked "Why me?" He asked for clarification and I explained that I was asking why he picked me.

"It's a chemical thing." he said with a mischievous grin.

"Besides that!" I laughed back to him. I'd hoped that he would say that he liked my personality or something that didn't have to do with our physical relationship. I was not expecting the answer he gave me.

"You always get me to talk about things that I don't want to talk about, things I've never told anyone; but, no matter what I say, it's cool, and that's cool. You've got an incredible personality. You're fun and sweet and caring ..." and my mind started to reel at the list that flew from this man's mouth and I couldn't catch all of it, he was listing everything so fast. He totally overwhelmed me. "... and I love the way your eyes get."

"What do you mean. The way my eyes get ... how?"

"The way your eyes get when I'm deep inside you." he replied, his voice thick with huskiness.

He looked like he had more to say and opened his mouth to speak, yet nothing came out. I could see he was struggling with whether or not to say whatever it was on his lips. I could also see that it was something that I would love to hear because he had this huge smile on his face the whole time. I asked him what it was and he wouldn't tell me. No matter what I did. *grin*

It started to get a little chilly and we went back inside to change and he offered me some dry clothes of his own to wear. He made mention that his feet were freezing as he sat down on the bed to put socks on. I took the socks from him, putting one on his left foot, then taking it in my hands, rubbing it to warm it up. As I repeated this with the right foot, he said "You're a great Mom, aren't you?" and I looked up at him and noticed the way he was looking at me and my heart swelled.

"I'd like to think that I am."

"I bet you are."

As I stood up, I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him; and, as I felt his arms go about my waist and squeeze, I told him that I'd miss him while he was gone. Munchies kicked in and he heated up the rest of the steak, which I tore into, singing "mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm" as I chewed -- that's how good it was. We went back outside and talked some more and he really opened up to me about so many things. I was honored.

After a while, we went back inside and joined those who remained in the living room to watch some tv. I snuggled up to him, with my head in his lap and, ironically enough, "Real Sex" was on, which only enflamed our passion for one another. I surrepticiously teased him without the knowledge of the others in the room and he pratically pushed me off the couch and down the stairs, I'd had him so aroused.

We barely made it in to his room before clothes started flying and hands and mouths explored. We made love three more times that night and it was ... different. We didn't tell each other how we feel about each other -- we showed each other. Each thrust was leisurely and he filled me, withdrew almost completely, before filling me again. He told me repeatedly that he didn't want to cum, that he wanted it to last. He wasn't the only one.

After the 3rd time, he laid down on the bed, under the covers, on his stomach. I was on top of the covers, lying on my back. My hand was thrown back behind my head and I tried to slow my breathing. Tried. He had the fan on, which was blowing the cool air onto me, from the feet up and it was hitting me in all the right places. I tried to deny how erotic that cool air felt. I tried not to whimper or moan or move. I tried. I failed. The more I tried to deny how good it felt, the better it felt and the harder it became to lie still and silent.

I was writhing on the bed, moving to feel the cool air caress my nipples and my core ... and then I felt his hot fingertips begin to gently toy with my breasts and run down my torso to my stomach and then back up again, tickling me, my body shuddering at his touch. His grip got firmer on my breasts, turning my nipples over in his fingers, rubbing my torso, moving down to my center. I held on to the bed with every ounce of strength I had as his hand worked my body. I ground my hips against him and he filled me for the fourth time.

Completely spent, he pulled me under the covers with him, snuggling close, admonishing me to wake him up if I got up in the middle of the night to leave, which I told him I would have to do.

About 4 a.m., I woke him. We'd gotten about an hour and a half of sleep at that point; but I knew I had to be home for when my son got up. He walked me out and pulled me to him in a tight hug and a kiss that went down to my toes. I started to tell him to have a nice flight and say my good byes and he stopped me with another kiss before telling me that he wasn't leaving until Sunday. I told him that I knew that; but, that I wasn't going to see him before he left and he still wouldn't let me say good bye. He told me over and over that he'd call me on Saturday and we'd talk. I acquiesed and, after another kiss, made my way home.

I spoke to him briefly on Saturday. He was getting ready to take a nap because he hadn't gotten any sleep after I left and he wanted to catch a few winks before he went out Saturday night; so, he told me he'd call me back. I didn't hear from him the rest of the day or evening and it started to hurt a little that I wouldn't get to speak to him before he left; yet, I resigned myself to that fact.

This morning, my best friend woke me up, calling to ask me if I could give her a ride back to her house. While I was out doing that, he called and I missed his call. I got back to my house around 1 p.m. and I was more than a little upset that I didn't get to hear his voice, although my heart soared to know that he did call me before he left.

I went downstairs to do laundry and, when I came back up, there was a message on my phone ... from him ... to call him back if I got the message before 2, which I did. My fingers flew over the dial pad and I was so glad to hear his voice. It turned out that Fate was hooking us up once again as his ride to the airport fell through and he wanted to know if I'd help him out.

We spoke on the phone a few more times before I went to pick him up and the break gave me ample time to jot down some things that I've always wanted to tell him. My son was going for the ride and I knew there'd be no privacy in the car.

I took out my stationery (yes, I have personal stationery), pulled out a pen and began to write ...

"James,

Relax. There are just a couple things that I've been meaning to tell you. Why I haven't up to this point has been a combination of things: timing, being chicken when the timing was right, and being a little afraid that what I wanted to say would be taken the wrong way and I would ruin whatever it is that we're doing, which I didn't want to see happen.

Why now? This is a "just-in-case-you-don't-come-back-and-we-never-see-each-other-again" thing. Like I said, relax ..."

(We'd met when I worked in a go-go bar, as a bartender, and I explained why I left the bar with him the night we first had sex, letting him know that, while I found him to be breathtakingly beautiful, his looks weren't what got me to leave the bar with him, nor were they why I continued to maintain a special friendship with him. I told him that I left the bar with him [something I've never done before or since - and I told him that too] because of the man that he is on the inside, and how much I genuinely liked that man. I then thanked him for the way that I feel when I'm with him and explained what I meant by that ...)

"Godspeed, James. Take care of yourself. Be careful. Stay true to yourself. If you ever need me, call me. Even if you don't, keep in touch when you can."

I gave him the letter after we'd taken his bags out of my car at the terminal, and he accepted it with a "thanks" and a smile before he drew me into his strong arms one last time, before placing the gentlest of kisses upon my lips.

He turned, grabbing his bags, and walked away and I got back in the car and started off for home.

We didn't say "Good-bye."