Revelation of the Heart - Ch. 02

If you didn't read Chapter 1, that's okay. It's been a little while and I provide a tasteful overview (or hint, of sorts) about what transpired in that one. Enjoy.

*****

Several weeks passed since that night I confessed some things to Brianna I fully regretted by now. Well, when you know in your heart you just blew it, what's left but regret?

I had a lot of that in my life these past few years.

She didn't call, stop by our studies, or even text. Complete silence. I desperately desired a do-over, but that wasn't happening. I knew it.

So, when the phone rang on a Wednesday morning, a good three weeks later, and her number popped up on the screen, my heart raced.

I answered with dread. She was the sweetest, kindest, most caring person I knew, and the silence was completely out of character for her. This call was closure. It was her way to fulfill what she was and sever all ties to me.

I'd crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. 'But she was the one who pushed you to cross it,' I often thought in those 21 days, but, in the end, we all own our choices. I should have kept my mouth shut. Things would be better now. They would.

"H-hello?" I answered. My voice cracked. The fact she called before eight in the morning had nothing to do with it; I'd been up since five, as I was most days.

"Good morning Mike." Brianna's voice was a smooth flowing stream on a hot summer day. Yes, it was a steamy summer morning that promised temps approaching triple digits this afternoon. Yet I felt cooled by her soft tone.

"Hi Brianna. How are you?"

"Are you free this morning? Do you have some time to talk?"

Most guys seem to understand that when a woman wants 'to talk,' it's not typically a positive thing. It had been three weeks and yes, I wanted to talk; perhaps I didn't want to hear what she'd say.

"What time?"

She hesitated. Then said, "Whenever you're free."

Even as my heart raced, it also sank. This was happening too soon. Sure, three weeks of waiting was tough enough, and the year plus since my wife passed was lonely, but this final hour or so would be the longest.

"Okay. Let me shower and get dressed, then I'll be over."

I'm not sure why I said that, considering our last conversation about my sexual preferences, including my preference to be nude at home, and I hoped it would slide by like a knuckleball -slow, wobbly, and easily missed.

"See you then," she said before the call ended.

I can't tell you how long that hour felt like, but I showered, shaved, put on some cologne (I needed all the positives I could grab for the moment), and selected a simply, thin white short-sleeved casual collared shirt and classy khaki shorts, sandals, and headed out the door just before nine in the morning.

The sun pierced into my skull, threatening to split it open. I could barely see and the heat was stifling; the kind of heat in which breathing would eventually become difficult.

Most days I was lazy when parking at home; the garage was certainly better for the vehicle's finish than bright sunlight, but it was just easier to park in the roundabout along the front of the house, which is where my sports car sat, blazing.

Within fifteen minutes I was pulling into her driveway. My wife and I had been here a handful of times, mostly for bible studies. Once for a 'get-to-know-you' dinner. And I'd been there once a month after she passed. Brianna made a lovely lasagna and her daughters did their best to offer comfort. It was a pleasant evening in a sea of distress at that time.

As I stepped onto her front porch, I laughed lightly, noting how inefficient she was at landscaping. Most of the older bushes were struggling for life. A few flowers wilted in the heat. The entire ground begged for mercy and relief, some water, and it would likely be a while of begging still.

My mouth was dry. I didn't want to ring the bell. I wanted to cling onto the fleeting memories and fantasies of what there had been between us, before my mouth stuck itself firmly on both of my feet. But moments aren't meant to wait; they're meant to move, and this one did.

Just as my finger closed in on the Ring doorbell, the solid oak door clicked and swung inward.

Brianna was radiant. Dressed to kill, as some would say. She wore a yellow sun dress that covered most of her arms, hugged her medium-sized breasts, and accentuated all the rest of those wonderful curves women naturally possess. Wide hips, narrow waist, and long, slender, athletic legs. The dress flowed down to just above her bare ankles. I tried not to let my gaze linger too long, but I couldn't help it.

She smiled warmly. "Come in." It was warm and inviting.

I stepped in and she closed to door behind me. As she turned slightly to lock it, I was greeted with a magnificent view of her firm ass. I saw no lines, no hint of traditional panties. Perhaps a thong, I thought and chased the corrupting thought away. 'Keep your head,' I said to myself.

She straightened and stood still before me. Our eyes danced. One to the next, and back again. There was a nervous energy about her.

My lips parted to say something, but nothing came. I swallowed dry needles away. It's funny how an old man like me could feel no different than the awkward teen I was fifty years ago.

She seemed almost as lost in the moment as I.

I finally mustered enough courage to get this moment moving again, knowing it was probably the last I'd share alone with Brianna.

"It was good to hear-"

"Take your clothes off."

I gaped at her. My mouth literally hung open. What did she say? What did I hear?

Her eyebrows hitched up. I could have sworn her cheeks flushed slightly, too.

"I'm... I'm sorry?"

"You heard me." Firm. Direct. "Clothes. Off." She paused as I failed to twitch. Well, most of me failed to twitch. The one part that knew what she said was already swelling. I'd be hard before removing my shirt. "Now," she added with a firmness I didn't buy from her.

My brain truly did lose all power to think and reason. I couldn't move. Brianna shifted on her bare feet and propped her arms on her hips. Impatience.

"I'll say it one more time. Mike, take your clothes off. All of them. Then hand them to me." She added after a dramatic pause, "Then we'll talk."

My shaking hands fumbled with the buttons to my shirt. I somehow managed to peel my pasty upper body out of it. I held it out to her and she gently took it and folded it over an arm while I fumbled with my belt, button, and zipper of my shorts.

I hitched my thumbs into the waistband of my boxers, but before I drew them out over my now hard cock, starting to say, "I'm... I'm already-"

She cut me off. "Now," was all she said, her eyes watching my lower regions expectantly.

I drew the shorts and boxers over my erection and down, realizing my sandals were still on. I slipped my feet through the leg holes one at a time and then turned them back right-side out and she took them.

She looked up and down my body without a word. Without any outward emotion, at least that I could tell.

"Put your sandals by the door. I'll be right back." She held my clothes out before her and walked through the living room and somewhere beyond the kitchen.

I bent down, painfully aware of my fully exposed ass, and the cool air conditioned air breathing over every part of me, undid the velcro straps, and kicked them off my feet where she directed me to leave them.

The house was silent. While this was completely opposite of what I had expected, given the definitive silence from her these past weeks, I was suddenly quite hopeful.

Even though the house was cooled, it was still warm enough for my balls to hang very loose and low; the way I preferred when naked at home. As I stepped toward the living room, uncertain where I was permitted to go, I felt them gently bounce against each thigh. Had it not been for that subtle movement, I'm sure I would have softened more than I did. But by the time she returned, a towel in hand, I was semi-hard, pointing more or less straight forward.

"Come, sit and we can talk."

She waved me in and spread the soft terricloth towel on one side of her plush, off-white couch. She patted it firmly.

I moved around her, careful not to rub certain parts against her. Whatever she was up to, this was her show and I was terrified of destroying the vibe, pushing anything too hard, too fast, and was already concerned about my inability to not be rock hard the first time Brianna saw me naked.

I sat down and she settled into one of the matching recliners opposite me, a light stained maple coffee table between us, an issue of Vogue and Cosmo on top. I had a hunch those belonged to her eighteen and nineteen year old daughters. I wasn't about to mention them. At all.

It's an interesting thing about being naked with someone else; when they're fully dressed, you become more acutely aware of your own state. That made it more difficult for me to soften, but mercifully I didn't remain fully hard. Well, not at that moment.

"First," Brianna said softly, looking down at her smooth, petite hands, her nails painted a pale red that matched her lipstick, and her blushing face, "I am sorry I didn't reach out sooner." She turned her attention to me. "I know that must have hurt."

I held my hands loosely on my thighs, afraid of moving them anywhere else. My lips were so dry I might have been hiking in a desert without water.

It had hurt. I couldn't say that. I simply tried to maintain eye contact, which she was managing to do as well, for the most part.

She continued, "After all you went through the past couple years, I know I hurt you. And I'm sorry."

Tears pushed to the edge of my eyes, and I forced them to retreat. No, you're not betraying me. Not again. Not now.

"It did. I was. It's okay."

Her smile was strained. Perhaps she was fighting the emotion of the moment, too. I was now too twisted upside down and turned around to know where this conversation was going, but was holding fast to the conviction it wasn't an ending. Perhaps a beginning. Or something in between.

"I know." Her gaze dropped to my lap before slipping down lower, to some place between us. "I left in a hurry. That night. I was so... ashamed."

"Why?"

She dragged her focus back to me. Tears threatening rain in her small orbit.

"I'm not that girl. I'm not supposed to be that girl."

"What girl is that?"

Her expressions grew more animated as she loosened up into the topic at hand, one I now understood had held her back from me for weeks.

"The one with dirty thoughts. The one who thinks about... what I mentioned that night. The one who fantasizes about things I have no business fantasizing about."

"Do you think less of me? Now?"

I moved my head to grab her attention and snagged it, forcing her to look me in the eyes.

Her head shook. Soft, subtle. Her long brown hair waved against her shoulders. A gentle tide rolling in.

"I don't think less of you, either. Not at all."

Defiance. It grabbed her. Now I understood. This was a battle. She was fighting forces from all sides. And I understood. I was no different.

"You don't get it. I was raised in a strict religious household. I was the good girl. Always. Sex was for marriage and marriage alone, and I still believe that, and I raised my girls to think that way, and they get it. I was good. All my life. My sister was wild and rebellious, running with one guy after another, and I was the prim and proper one, the good daughter, the one who never strayed, and look where I ended up?

"A single mother of three. My husband cheated on me for years and finally took off and abandoned us all for a younger woman. And still I believed and obeyed."

"And you were right to."

The pain and anger that swirled in her heart pierced me suddenly with that glare.

"For what? I finally meet a man who... who is... probably the absolute perfect guy I've ever known, who was faithful to a wife who didn't fulfill his needs, who couldn't or wouldn't or whatever, and he still remained faithful, all the way to the end and even beyond, and he makes me feel so comfortable and confident and secure and..."

She choked on the rest of the words. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she appeared as a lost, desperate woman alone in a vast sea, hoping for a life vest. A savior.

"And... what?" I asked, gently.

She searched for the words and finally found them. "Free. You make me feel free. Like I can explore things with you I could never have imagined.

"When I got home that night, I replayed our conversation over and over. I was so embarrassed by what I said."

"Why?"

"Because... I'm not supposed to be that kind of woman."

"But what's wrong with it? What's wrong with fantasies? They can be healthy."

"I... I don't know. Can they?" She let her eyes drift down to my lap then. My cock had settled, but not fully. With her attention, blood began flowing again.

"I think so."

"Because ever since that night, I haven't stopped thinking about the things you said."

"Which things, exactly?"

I was intrigued. Yes, I understood about shyness and faith and all that, but I also knew about desire and lust and how powerfully amazing it can feel when unleashed.

She blushed even deeper as she tore her gaze from my swelling member. I shifted, feeling bolder now to push some envelopes. At least subtly. My cock rocked with my motion as did my balls. She looked back.

She nudged her chin toward me. "This. Seeing you... like this. Watching you."

"You like this?"

She nodded and swallowed, not taking her eyes from me down there.

She said, "I'd only been with one man in my life, and he didn't parade around. With him, it was only with the lights out, only naked when we got in bed, dressed when it was over.

"I thought that was the way it was supposed to be, but with movies and my daughters and the Internet... well, things started to change. Not to mention my wild and crazy sister and her constant teasing through the years.

"So, when you confessed those things to me, it's all I could do to stop thinking and fantasizing about them. Everything. And here we are."

"Here we are," I said with some measure of growing confidence.

"Yes, here we are." She was adorable in her struggle to be comfortable with the situation at hand. She sat prim and proper, her knees bent and feet firmly on the ground, hands on her knees, shoulders set back and firm, driving her chest out slightly. I allowed myself the luxury of surveying those curves, spotting the faintest outline of her nipples, stowed somewhere beneath the cotton fabric and a likely thicker bra padding.

For the next hour or so (I lost track of time), we talked. Mostly about her past marriage and the loneliness of the last eleven years or so, my marriage and the lack of sex from my wife, and we touched ever-so-lightly on the topics we discussed three weeks ago.

All the while, I was hard, almost the entire time.

Suddenly, Brianna jolted. Then I jumped. Did she hear something? Was someone home unexpectedly? That wouldn't bother me too much, but I doubted she'd be okay with her daughters seeing my like this. Not now, anyway.

She didn't move much, though. She tilted her head slightly and said, "I know it's a little early, but would you care for lunch?"

Who wouldn't want to enjoy a meal with this beautiful woman, all while being completely naked.

I followed her into the kitchen and together we prepared simple sandwiches. I continued to wax between semi-soft and hard-as-a-rock, and she stole plenty of glances while we worked side by side, not just at me cock, but also my ass. I couldn't help but admire her firm body and the way it moved in that dress. I hoped to see her out of it before long.

Brianna made no move to remove anything, and we sat and talked like good friends. For a time, I almost forgot I was naked in her home.

We cleaned up and Brianna turned and leaned against the counter, damp dish towel in hand, and looked at me with a sly smile.

"I want to ask you something."

"Okay."

"I'm afraid."

"Okay."

She swallowed and studied her toes. After some time, she finally spoke, soft and delicate. "Would you do something for me?"

I strained to hear her, but made it out.

"Of course."

"Would you... masturbate? For me?"

Heaven just dropped into my lap! Would I?

"Absolutely," I gently answered.

We stood together in her kitchen, the moment dictating everything. I waited and she finally pushed off the counter, as though it was holding up her body and courage.

"I'll meet you in the living room," she said as she slipped out to another part of the house. I walked back to the couch, growing harder than I could remember being in a long time.

A few minutes later, Brianna returned with a gray sheet, a bottle of lotion, and a hand towel. She draped the sheet over the couch.

"Will here be okay?" she asked. She could have asked it the kitchen island counter or a bed of nails would be okay and I'd have said, 'Hell yeah.'

I laid down with my stroking hand on the backside of her viewpoint. She said prim and proper in the chair opposite me.

My balls flopped they were so loose. My cock bounced as I leaned back. I started lightly grazing my fingers along the shaft. To the head, then down. I cupped my balls and rolled them gently, then stroked the shaft again. I watched her.

Brianna's eyes were glued to my cock. Her breathing was heightened. Her eyes hungry and wide. Her chest rose and fell with each breath.

Her hands were once again on her knees, legs pressed together. I grasped my cock and began stroking slowly.

I hoped she would relax a bit, move her hands over her breasts, rub her knees, or something. But she merely watched. Still. Almost motionless. I accepted it, anyway.

I didn't know how long I should take, but figured this was something she'd never done before, so no point in dragging it out.

Besides, I had been hard for a while now, and needed relief. I grabbed the lotion, applied a generous dollop, and stroked slowly. Every pull and glide felt electric, especially with this beautiful woman watching me.

With my other hand I cupped and rolled my balls. Feeling every vein and ridge and line. My stroking hand moved faster and with each pump, it seemed as though Brianna breathed faster.

I felt the point of no return approach and closed my eyes as the wave of pleasure flooded over me. A rope of cum landed on my chin and collar bone. The next along my chest. A third on my stomach, and then the rest dribbled out over my hand and onto my short-trimmed hair.

I don't know how long the orgasm lasted, but felt like minutes. My ass had lifted off the couch and as I settled back down, opened my eyes to see Brianna, mouth slightly agape, almost holding her breath, her gaze wandering over my body.

I was breathing heavily. I waited for her to say something. Instead, she stood up, stepped around the coffee table, and then eased her nice, round, firm ass onto it. She held the small towel and proceeded to wipe me up, starting at my chin.

"That went far," she laughed lightly, almost awkwardly.

"Yeah, that was a good one."

My cock slowly softened, but not all the way. It rested in my grip as Brianna slowly and patiently cleaned me up. When she reached my cock, she draped the towel over it, squeezed and rubbed it clean.

In no way was it perfect (the cleaning job), but it was incredibly intimate. I watched her tongue roll along her lips as she did, and her lower lip tucked between her teeth.

This turned her on. WAS turning her on.

But it was just one small step.

When she finished dabbing me up, she looked at me. "Thank you."

I wanted to thank her, but only smiled stupidly back. She placed a hand on my chest (the chest that just had a stream of thick, creamy cum on it, and leaned against me as she stood.

"I'll get your clothes."

I sat up, thoughts now swaying this way and that. Was it too much? Was regret seeping into the cracks of her conscience?

I hoped not. I hoped this was the start of something amazing. Only time would tell.

She returned with my clothes. I dressed, as slowly as I could.

She led me to the door. As she opened it, she said, "Don't misunderstand anything here, Mike. I want this. I just need time to... get... THERE."

I assured her I understood. I didn't tell her this was going to lead to a number of solitary stroke sessions, and that was okay.

I'd wait on her. I waited twenty years on my wife who never emerged from her shelter. Something told me Brianna would come out of it, and in her time.

And I was fine with that.