Nymph

Her tanned skin was heavenly smooth, the water made it shimmer, her large soft ass pressed tight against my pelvis. I was a head taller than her, I leaned over, kissing her neck, my arms wrapped around her young lithe body, lathering her slim stomach and naked breasts and between her thighs with the loofah. She held her hair with one hand.
“Gosh, now I’m going to have to wash my hair since it is getting soaked. What kind of body wash is this? Smells nice.”
“Nice huh, lavender scented.”
Sierra turned around and took the loofah and started scrubbing my chest with it.
“How do you explain being shaved to your wife?” She asked, gently but firmly caressing my shaved genitals with her hand before lathering them up.
“I tell her I do it for comfort and hygiene.”
She licked my nipple and sucked on it gently, then bit it.
“Ow!”
She smiled seductively looking at me with her brown eyes, and I pulled her close and bent down to nibble playfully on her lip while giving her generous butt cheek a slap and squeezing it firmly, I could feel her lips curl in a smile.
I pushed her up against the tile wall kissing her and feeling her tongue in my mouth, feeling myself between her legs, my breath quickening in the steamy mist.
Every morning when I get in the shower while my wife sleeps soundly in the next room, she’s there now, this water nymph. More than a phantom: a memory caught in an endless loop of those fleeting moments we spent together, but I can see her vividly, remember the feeling of her skin against mine whenever I close my eyes and feel the warm water cascading down my back and breath in the steam.

I’ve had a few people I was really close to die in my life. I’ve become somewhat used to the grief and mourning process, and I know there are no shortcuts. At some point in the process, I always see these phantoms. Sometimes it is so bad I’m not sure what is real or not. Sometimes they are like waking dreams, but they are at their most powerful when associated with a physical sensation (smell, touch, etc), like feeling the water on my body in the shower, or when I sleep. Sometimes I have a vivid dream of them, talk to them, spend time with them, and when I wake I am certain they are still alive and that I had only dreamed their death. That is such a nice momentary relief, but eventually I come back to the reality in which they are dead and gone. Sierra’s as good as dead to me now, and I know I’ve been mourning her loss. But she is there when I close my eyes to sleep, I’ll dream of her, mostly I’ll dream of texting back and forth with her and her telling me that she was joking about the whole blackmail thing. It is always that way, like my psyche is trying to stitch closed the wound by imagining the dead person telling me something, resolving some unfinished business, creating closure.

I finished up in the shower, and dressed, grabbed my keys. I closed the car door and started the engine.
“You know, it wouldn’t take much effort to save your marriage,” she said idly, reclining in the passenger seat in her sweatshirt, swiping her thumb across her phone’s screen.
When I turned to look, the seat was empty. That wasn’t a memory, just a construct of my imagination. She seems to be an ever present passenger now, but she only exists in the periphery of my vision, sitting there, playing music over my stereo from her phone, talking nonsense, making fun of me, excitedly telling me about her favorite thing to eat at a particular restaurant as we drive past. At the office, I know I’ll find her buck naked spinning in my office chair, or writing silly notes or drawing pictures on various pieces of paper scattered around my desk. It is kind of nice to have the company, even if she is only an illusion.

Sometimes, I have to go onto her Instagram to remind myself she is still alive and gallivanting about back home. She deleted the post of my text message (but the line in her bio remains). Not sure if that means anything, if anything, she probably just realized it was unwise and vain of her, or maybe got an odd question about it. Things are going well for me though, I’ve gotten replies on my CL ads and a few new matches on Tinder. Surprisingly, I’ve finally gotten a couple of bites from married gals on CL, we’ve chatted a bit. One seems very skittish though, she thinks I’m attractive, but she is afraid the feeling won’t be mutual. The other has never cheated, but she is tired of the mundane, sexless life with her decade older husband. I’m roughly the same age as both of these women, but I’m not getting the vibe that they will go anywhere.
“Don’t be so negative, you’re such a grandpa…” Sierra’s voice calls playfully from over my shoulder.

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5 thoughts on “Nymph

  1. When I was in my very dark grieving process over one of my FWB’s everything hurt. I’d remember conversations we had on the phone while I was at this store or this stretch of road. It was constant. All day, all night. It never let up. To the point that when he started dating his now partner I had very dark very violent feelings towards her. I wanted him to save me from my miserable reality and the truth was, he couldn’t. He never promised he would. And I got angry. I got very angry. I spewed all manner of vitriol at him and his gf. It was bad.
    But every day it got a little less and I could breathe a little more. It’s been well over a year since those days. I’m head over heels in love with my lover and the FWB I have dubbed The Bad Experience is now one of my best friends. I love him, not in a romantic way but I love him none the less. An you know what else? I love his gf too. She is good for him.
    I don’t think you can have that same relationship w Sierra, nor should you, honestly, but each day will get better. I promise.
    I wish I could hug you. But I’m a perv, is probably grope you instead…

    Liked by 1 person

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