Snippet #1955339

I truly thought in that moment: Am I going to be the worst person in the world? Is this what it will take to find what I feel I have lost? I didn't like it. And I kept thinking: How could this make me happy? A life full of compromises? There was no compromise when I was with Melissa, never. There was agreements. We had our trying times but, she and I, we blended like the clouds and the sky. Like sand and the ocean. We were essential to one another and as Brooklyn crawled over top of me--that look in her eyes, that drunken drugged appearance--The thought was too much to conceive.

Chester lay back on the cottony sheets, plush and smooth creating and indentation of himself as he witness his reckless error saunter towards him. Her eyes, looking not her own; lackluster and void of her true 'spirit'. It was too late now, he had set this in motion. And as she slowly bent her knees, her tight denim pants pressing down against the bed--slowly she would crawl towards him, over him, above him. All Chester could hear, was not the thrashing of a love-wild mustangs heart, but that of a cowards before the count down to the end of his days.

What had he done?

Brooklyn straddled his hips, gripping and grabbing at his tucked shirt so intoxicated with the idea of sex. Chester's heart continued to beat ever louder, warning him. Telling him, this wasn't the way. That if he went down this path, the memory of will be stained and this girl--this wonderful, beautiful girl before him will be cheapened as a result; not from love, or even lust--just simple arrogance. He was abashed at his actions, destroyed by the idea that he would tread this far. He swallowed, holding back the rush of raw emotion as the memories came flooding back in like a waterfall.

" I want you too do your worst...."

She whispered to him, kissing him slowly. He felt her hands sink to unbutton his jeans and his own hands intervened. It was in that solitary moment, that he began to feel himself really slip from memory. There was a part of him gone and need to be filled. Not replaced, never replaced but filled. Chester took a deep breath before rolling over, taking her with him until he was on top. He released his breath slowly against the creme color of her flesh of her throat. Its warmth could be reminisced or likened to that of when the sun's brilliant light first shatters the illusion of nightfall, when it's face pours out onto rolling hills. Warmth, draping along her clavicle. The tip of Chester's nose drifting along the crook of her neck, as his lips moist and equally warm fled down the side of her neck.

Each kiss comparable to warm, summers rain drop. The kinds that aren't at all cold, and disconcerting but rather, wet and embracing. Chester's heart throbbed. Pleading him not to go any further. Go further he did. He pulled her up gently and tugged her blouse over her head, pulling the soft fabric past her nose, her gorgeous colored eyes and simply let it clutter to the ground. His finger tips, with light ease, trailed thee path between her breasts in a very slow manner--her bra still tucked around her. He leaned down, planting a solid kiss--not a frivolous playful one, a solid kiss to the left breast where her heart should be. In that moment, a tear blended with the moisture of his lips. He could taste the saltiness of his own tears--how bitter they were and she was none the wiser.

"No," Chestered whispered to her in the dark of the room. " I'll do my best." His voice, his words rang out like a gunshot but they would barely be audible between them. It was a covenant. A solemn binding agreement that, even though what he was about to do was ethically wrong, perhaps morally--he would care fr her tenderly and not make it seem quite like just a notch in someone's scoreboard. Whenever he would tell this story to the love of life--wherever she was, whenever she met her--He'd be sure to cry.

Whenever I think about it, I can't say 'well, I'm just a man' No. Men don't do that. I can't say 'well, I was weak.' Then I stop to think, why was I still walking after the accident? Why was I left behind? But I couldn't say I was stronger then than when the wreck had happened either. I think I did it because, I felt wronged. I felt I had been robbed and I wanted someone to feel the grievance. I wanted somebody down there with me, in the grime that was able to compare with me so I didn't feel so alone anymore.

Slipping a hand beneath Brooklyn, his fingers with an amazing amount of nimbleness--unlatched her bra, loosening the lace material. Peeling the straps free of her arms, her chest now lie bare before him. Rosey buds, and and creamy silken skin that raised to touch his smooth bronzed face. His lips widened as he kissed a pathway of molten proportions down the space between her breasts, the nerves reacting in response and it could be felt by gooseflesh as he kissed up one mound slowly, taking his time before he reached the peak. His right hand tightened on the front of her pants, where the zipper and button coexisted; nails biting into her denim while his left hand kept up his weight. He let his tongue set fire to the gasoline that was the vague trail of moisture left behind when he struck her tender, sensitive skin with his tongue. His right hand seeming urgent in its own response as it clutched that wrapped around her waist ever more tightly.