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Her cheeks burned as she felt her body react. ‘Charles,’ she said, pressing her lips together and nodding an acknowledgement. He brushed a finger down her cheek, studying her, saying nothing. Her skin remembered his touch like a burn. She could not meet his eyes. ‘Let me past,’ she said, gritting her teeth. ‘I want to talk to you,’ he said. ‘Will you sit with me at dinner?’ She forced herself to remember the days that turned into weeks and months with no word from him. The withering of hope. The rages, the despair. And finally, acceptance. ‘I think the time for talking is past, don’t you?’ she said, and pushed past him on wobbly legs, hoping she could make it to Fran’s group without stumbling. When she finally found the courage to look at him again, she was shocked. He was standing on the edge of a group, making perfunctory comments, his eyes rarely leaving her. The look of anger on his face was unmistakable and hit her like a whip. As she forced her attention to what Fran was. Was it a dream, or was Michael really there. I looked around the room and didn’t see any signs that told me he had been.I put my nightie back on, crawled out of bed, and went into my computer to see what was happening online; maybe I would find someone there exciting to talk too. After turning the computer on, I chatted with a few people, but the conversations was boring, so I logged off.I sat there for a moment wondering, what to do next. I was too aroused for sleep; my erect nipples tingled as they brush against the soft, silky, fabric. I placed one hand between my legs and felt the dampness. I slid a finger the between the fold of my pussy and slowly started stroking my clit. I closed my eyes and murmured softly, “Oooooooooooh.” It was then that I decided I needed to masturbate, but would do it in the living room. The room had large windows, covered with sheer curtains, which added to the excitement. I got up; walked toward the bathroom to gather my a few things I needed for some.
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