Revelation of the Heart - Ch. 01

This is the first chapter in what's turning out to be a long, intense story. If you're looking for a quick stroke story, this ain't it. But if you enjoy getting to know characters, then give this a try. In this first chapter, I'll warn you, no sex takes place, but sharing of some fantasies does. Take that for what it's worth. The steamier scenes are coming in Chapter 2 and onward.

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Chapter 1

It was a relatively calm evening. No major revelations, no new prayer requests, no earth-shattering confessions. This week's Bible study wound down on time, which wasn't often the case as one person or another always seemed to have a crisis in their life.

Not this week. I was relieved for that.

I'm no pastor, elder, or anything else, really. Just an ordinary man who offers his home as a meeting place. Sometimes I lead the study, but most of the time I merely meld into the backdrop. Ever since my wife of 20 years passed, that's been more than fine with me.

I said goodnight to the other attendees, many of whom had been coming to this for years. Many of whom still treated me with kid gloves. The women were the worst; their eyes offering endless sympathy and their words, well, their words often failed them when saying goodbye. I was growing weary of it. Eight months had helped to dull some of the pain, but it was those looks that kept ripping open the wounds.

I wanted to move past it.

And, truth be told, I wanted some quiet time with my favorite guest: Brianna Miller. Somewhere in her late thirties, she had the face of a woman ten years younger and the body of one just as youthful. Short, slender, with wonderful curves she rarely highlighted, her long dark brown hair always seemed to be perfect, even if we sat outside in a blowing wind.

She had a small, rounded nose and two piercing brown eyes. Her smile, though, with those bright white teeth and sensual red lips... they were the inspiration for too many lonely nights as I lie awake in bed, alone, missing the touch of my wife, and then eventually any woman, listening to the sounds of a world that plugged along, as though her life never really mattered.

It had mattered, though. Very much. We had a child, a daughter and she just turned 18 last summer, a month before she said goodbye and 'I love you' to her mother the last time. She was now off to college. She said she'd stay home this year if I needed her to, but I said 'No way, absolutely not.' She had a life to live and I wanted her to embrace it.

So, I spent most days and nights alone. These studies were about all the company I received, and when Brianna showed up -which was most weeks- it brought the brightest gleam of sunshine into my world.

This evening was no different.

She started coming four years ago. I immediately struggled to keep from looking at her too often, or too long. She was shy, opening up only after several years, and especially once my wife and I admitted she only had months left.

My wife Rachel told me -no, I'd say implored me- to consider getting closer to her, but I couldn't. Not only was I afraid of appearing unfaithful to my wife, but also because I was old enough to be her father. Sure, while 60 and 40 don't seem too significant in the grand scheme of things, Brianna had three girls, so she had different needs and focuses on her attention. Besides, though I wouldn't say I'm ugly, I'm not young anymore.

I keep myself in decent physical shape, still have a fair amount of hair on my head, and stand just shy of six feet tall. I got rid of the pot belly that latched onto me in my early fifties and enjoyed some passing, lingering glances from the female persuasion, and I've been known to have some women who occasionally drifted in and out of our study flirt with me. I'd be oblivious to it, but not my wife; she noticed everything and would tease me from time to time, especially after several weeks passed since the woman had last visited one of our gatherings.

After Rachel passed, I mourned. For a while. Even though you know it's coming, the loss is still tough to handle. Even though you believe she's truly in a better place, the void is real. It's tangible. It's awful.

Someone else hosted the meetings those first few months. I barely crawled out to them; I preferred to weep and wail in private. There were plenty of visitors that initial month, but Brianna made herself scarce. I noticed. I couldn't understand it, and I missed seeing her, if not for her smile, then for her smell; she had the most exquisite perfume that always stirred my imagination (and forced me to cover my tracks so as to not get caught staring just a little too long).

When February rolled into March and the temps outside ramped up and I started hosting again, I started seeing Brianna more often again. And I started to feel alive again, if only in brief snippets.

Once these regular meetings started returning to my place, she waited around until everyone left. She didn't offer continuing consolation. Her brief hugs goodnight were firm but abbreviated. It wasn't confusing, but it didn't stem the rising floodwaters of inappropriate thoughts.

By late June, in the growing heat of early summer, our alone time grew longer, conversations more personal, and it seemed like we were good together. Yet I never considered it could be a possibility.

Then Brianna leaned forward in the chair across from me in my living room, a glass of ice water cradled in her hands, looked to me, and then asked, "Are you... are you moving on?"

The question was both direct and resolved. There was no sympathy in it. No hint of empathy. Here was a person who'd seen the finale of a marriage and the feeble attempt I'd made to rebuild from the ashes. This question was a firm kick in the backside... or the nether regions.

Was I moving on?

I sighed. Deep. Long. How could I know? But I did know. I wanted to. I simply didn't know how.

"You mean, am I dating?"

She nodded. In the warm summer evening, her blouse was thin and buttoned up. Just the top button undone. Whatever bra encased her breasts was smooth; I never got a hint of nipples pressing through the fabric that was so wont these days as women more often seemed to crave the attention that simple sight brought. I caught myself staring at those soft, round mounds and tore away. Back to her beautiful face.

"I guess."

She knew the answer.

I sighed again. "I want to. I just don't want to deal with the nonsense."

"What nonsense? It would be good for you," she replied.

If I needed more closure on the faint dream of having her in my arms or something intimate, this was it.

"I can't stand the thought of dating for weeks, maybe even months, tiptoeing around the things that are actually important to me, and then learning that no, they aren't interested."

"What do you mean the things that are actually important to you?"

Did I really just stumble into this conversation? Was I honestly going to go down this road? This kind, sweet, shy, innocent woman was scratching an itch that would easily overwhelm her. If she knew what was in my head, she'd turn and bolt out the door, screaming as she sprinted for the safety of her car, and then her home. And I'd never see her again.

Don't misunderstand me; I'm not sadistic. I'm not a sexual deviant; at least I don't think so. I'm merely a man approaching the twilight of his life who'd been in a nearly sexless marriage for 20 years and I missed so many things and developed a number of other fantasies that morphed into some fetishes. Things I had no intention of admitting to my Bible study friends, especially this unique, gorgeous woman.

I shook my head, common sense straining to take control. "I shouldn't."

"Shouldn't what? Mike? What?"

"I can't go down this road with you."

"You don't trust me?"

"Of course I do. I... I don't trust me. And if you knew some of the things that rolled around in this crusty old man's head, you'd never want to speak to me again."

She chuckled. Not a full laugh, but more than a snicker.

"I highly doubt that." She tilted her head and gazed at me. Those soft, bright, piercing eyes captured me. I would do anything for her in that moment, and yet I feared giving her what she asked for: the truth.

It was my turn to chuckle lightly. "You have no idea," I whispered.

She leaned closer, the edge of her blouse opening slightly, a promise of a glimpse down below, obscured by shadow and the wrong angle. Yet, I couldn't help but stare a little too long. She didn't move back. Didn't attempt to cover up or hide. She only continued to study me, waiting expectantly for my response.

"Come on, Mike, tell me. What things are important to you that you don't want to share?" She straightened and held a hand up. "I swear... it won't change how I see you."

Famous last words, I thought with another long, deep sigh. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and ran my hands through my hair.

"I consider myself a pretty simple guy. My wife was kind and sweet and innocent in many ways of the world, but she was also oblivious to things I needed, or wanted.

"She could do her own thing, make plans with people, drag me along without even asking, and it was fine. From time to time it caused tension, but, to me, it was no big deal.

"But ever since I was young, I've been very sexual. I learned about sex from my father's Playboys and Penthouse magazines. I didn't have a lot of experience in my teens or 20s, then I found some women who were really into... everything. I got hooked, I guess.

"Spoiled may be the better word." I paused to consider her. She was hitched forward, observing me, listening intently. "You sure you want to-"

"Yes." That was another thing I liked about her; she was direct. A take charge kind of person when the setting was right.

I nodded. "Okay. Just to give you an idea of what I'm talking about, my wife never... well," I was growing flushed talking about this with her, "she never went down on me."

"Never?" Brianna didn't say that in a condescending way. More, surprised.

I shook my head. "She wouldn't do it. But oral was important. I just didn't realize how important until a few years without it. She didn't even care for me going down on her, though when she relented and let me, she sure enjoyed it." I smiled sheepishly. Brianna merely nodded. It appeared as though her breathing had hitched up a notch, but that could have been my imagination.

"So..." I continued, "oral sex is important to me. I'm not going to get into a relationship with someone who doesn't like it, or who will do it once or twice and then not bother anymore." I thought about it for a moment, the words sounding out to my ears taking on a slightly different perspective than merely unspoken thoughts.

"Does that make me shallow?"

Brianna merely rolled her head side to side. No. Not a word. Just a more intimate expression. I hoped that was a good sign.

"Well, I had been in a long-term relationship before my wife and that woman couldn't go a day without my-" I was about to say 'cock' but thought better of it in front of Brianna, "manhood in her mouth."

"Sounds fun," she said. I couldn't tell if that was sincere or covering for something else.

At this point, there was no purpose in holding back. I was feeling intoxicated, talking about this with someone... anyone... and it just so happened to be this beautiful woman I'd known for years now.

"I miss it. I'll be honest, I miss it a lot. I missed it every year I was married. My wife wouldn't even give me a handjob unless I practically begged her. Sex with her was mostly mundane. But I loved her and vowed to be with her to the end."

"And you were."

My head bobbed along my neck. Yes, I was. "I don't want to sound unappreciative of her and all the years we enjoyed together. They were good years."

"I understand."

"But I feel like I've been in purgatory for so long, dying of thirst, and I have no desire to go back to that. I mean, I enjoy being naked when it's hot out. In fact, I'm more comfortable wearing nothing. In fact, when you leave, I'll probably strip down and won't get dressed again until next week." I laughed. Brianna smiled lightly, and I almost read condescension in it. Like, 'Men, what's wrong with them?' crossing her mind.

I ignored it the best I could and pressed forth. "And Rachel never had an issue with it. I asked her plenty and she always assured me it was fine, but she never really looked at me. Sure, I caught her catching some glances, so I think she was a bit shy and wanted to... sometimes, but mostly she ignored me during those times."

"She probably did like it," Brianna said. "And she probably felt wrong for liking to look. So she stole glances when she could. But now... you want to be naked with someone else?"

I shrugged. "When you say it like that, it sounds stupid."

"No, not at all. Mike, don't get me wrong... I want to understand. I want to know more. And if I can help, I want to."

"Don't see how you can help with these things, but..." The words hung out like an echo between us. I forced myself to continue.

"I guess what's important to me is to find a woman who likes me for who I am, who not only tolerates me being naked at home, but actually enjoys it, or prefers it, if possible, and who loves oral sex -giving and receiving- as much as I do. Who would love having me finish in her mouth. And who would do it daily, if possible."

Brianna sat there, studying me. I so wanted her to be distracted because my cock had swelled and was pressing out against the side of my shorts. It didn't tickle and there was nothing I could do to adjust it.

"I know it may sound trite, but do you think you can find a woman like that?"

How could I know? I hadn't actually entered the dating pool in 20 years; so much had changed in society.

I shrugged. What else could I do? Perhaps hope for that was already fading away and I hadn't even gotten started yet.

"That's the thing," I said, "I'm so not looking forward to going through the dating scene and finding someone who is kind and sweet and attractive, who then stops answering my calls or texts once they know this about me."

"You sell yourself short, Mike. But let me ask you... if you could find a woman who didn't mind you being naked all the time, but maybe didn't prefer it as much as you like, who gave you oral sex a couple times a week and welcomed your reciprocal efforts, but it wasn't daily, would that do?"

"Of course." I realized how shallow and insincere I must have sounded. "I didn't mean literally every day."

"I figured. What else?"

I studied her. What did she mean, 'What else?' Wasn't that enough?

"There must be more than you're admitting. Wanting oral sex after all these years without and wanting to strip down and just be free at this stage in your life are not big deals."

"I suppose not. But, then again, I have no idea what women consider obnoxious these days, for lack of a better word."

Brianna shifted in her seat and blushed a little more.

"Well," she said, "I'll tell you a secret." She paused, for dramatic effect or simply gathering her words, I found myself holding my breath in anticipation. "There are a couple fantasies I've had rolling around in my head for years, too. Many years, actually."

She looked adorable, struggling with confessing this to me, the flushing of her face, and the way she looked so innocent admitting something 'dirty,' at least in her estimation.

"Go on," I encouraged her.

Finally, she did. "Well, I always wanted to try... anal." Her eyes caught mine, almost like a deer in the headlights. "I've never done it. I just... I heard a friend talk about it once, back in college, and over the years, the thoughts started betraying me."

"I know what you mean about your thoughts betraying you. That's happened to me over the years. You see something once, then before you realize it, you begin contemplating it. Then... well, looking it up more, then it becomes a hot fantasy you can't let go of."

"Like?" She was pressing me now. Again.

"I have a fetish, or fantasy, about tasting my own cum." There. I said it. No going back. She looked surprised. Not repulsed. Not that I could tell, anyway. Just a little shocked, maybe.

"Really."

Did I push too far? Did I admit too much?

"I'd not heard that before," she said. "But I would say it'd be a good idea if men knew how they tasted."

"Yeah, I would think so. But..."

"But... what?"

"It's funny. I could get worked up so much by the thought, the fantasy, find the right video of encouragement, be absolutely convinced that I was going to do it this time, and then, point-five seconds after I... you know, cum... immediately think, 'What was I thinking?'"

"So, you've never tried it?"

I shook my head. "I could never get past the fantasy. I started to then fantasize about finding a woman who didn't just accept that idea I had, but who genuinely loved the thought of it and wanted to do that with me, to help me."

Brianna shifted a little more. Still leaned forward, pressing toward me. I truly feared that once she left and processed what I'd admitted, I'd never see her again.

"How would she help you with that?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I think her encouragement, her sincerity in liking the idea, would help. I've thought about her snowballing me after a blowjob, or feeding it to me from her fingers while she played with herself, bringing herself to orgasm while she did. I've often fantasized about cumming on her, on her... breasts," I wanted to say 'tits,' but thought that would be a step too far, "and then licking it off and kissing her, sharing it with her."

She held my gaze as I continued, "But it only works in my head when it's something she actually wants to do, too. It just doesn't seem to work if she doesn't care. I don't know why."

"It's a deep, personal fantasy," Brianna admitted. "I know the feeling." She hesitated, then added, "I've also had a fantasy like that. Not that, I mean, but where it only works when the other person is fully on board and turned on by it."

"What is it?"

"I shouldn't."

"Please." I would beg her at this point.

She inhaled deep and then let it out slow. Then she said, "I've long fantasized about being taken by two men at once."

That was hot. I immediately envisioned her being ravaged by me and another guy. But why me? I'd never find someone like her who wanted me, too.

"You're shocked," she said.

"Not at all. I think it's wonderful to have these feelings. I think it would be even more wonderful to live them out."

She snorted. It was a sound I didn't expect from her. And it brought forth robust laughter. From both of us. A wonderful break from the tension.

"Live them out?" she chortled. "I've not been with a man since Lizzy was two." Lizzy was her thirteen year old. Eleven years, then. For her. And here I was, complaining.

"But you're young, vibrant, incredibly beautiful. You've got plenty of time."

She smiled at me. "So do you."

Yes. But again, it always came back to the nightmarish aspect of the dating game. Having to meet someone, get to know them, and then, if things seemed to be moving in the right direction, talking about these things. For which, I was convinced, most women would call time-out and be done with me.

It was exhausting just thinking about it. To actually go through it would be... I don't know... the end of me.

"On that note," Brianna said, "I think I need to call it a night."

She stood very quickly, gathered her things, and as I was slow to rise (a certain part of me painfully awake as I did my best to shift it and get more comfortable standing), she was already moving to the door.

I was flabbergasted. She was in a rush to escape. Just as I feared with the dating pool, this woman who had filled a number of evening fantasies these past months, who had become close to a best friend, was escaping.

Sure, I'll admit I would have loved the thought of her being interested in me, but I knew that could never be. The age gap was too great. The attractiveness gap was too great. But here, as she opened the door and smiled wanly at me, it felt like another death. Like I'd never see or talk to her again.

She opened her mouth to say something, then held back, caught in the gap of the open door. She tried again, then stopped.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"No," she said. "It's... goodnight." With that, she closed the door behind her and I stood alone in the foyer, wishing to claw back the last hour.

I spent too many months wishing to claw back time, and I never figured out how.

Now, I'd lost another, I was certain.

But life has a funny way of proving me wrong.