Shobha's Kiss

With a fag sigh and a faint inkling of Bob Hope, Shobha once Thomas More sat down at her desk at household and powered up her computer. It had been another long day of work dealing with early peoples'concerns and requirement. So often it fell to her to gruntle those supposed emergencies and cataclysm. She was good at her job, perhaps too beneficial, since she always seemed to be in requirement. But that was study, not her private animation. That was another story.

Shobha was still a young woman, at least in her own nous, though she often felt so very tired. Tired of all the senseless drama at work and in early people's lives, thing that really didn't matter to her. She longed for more, however. Not more drama, just more ... living ... for herself. It wasn't selfishness, it was more loneliness. She knew that she was loved, at least by her daughter, the light of her life.

Her daughter was indeed her greatest treasure, but she was also a incessant reminder of the honey that she once felt from the man of her life. Her girl's don. He was taken too soon from this life and left Shobha ... alone. wellspring, except for her girl. Too soon, and dearly missed Sir Thomas More than anyone realized. There was left an aching void where love used to fulfil her very individual. The memory of that love was a small consolation but it was also effort of melancholy.

Shobha envied her daughter in some shipway. The girl was just beginning her liveliness as an adult. Everything was new and fresh and exciting. Shobha longed for those days, or at least the feelings. She missed so much of her past times. She felt as though she were simply waiting now, waiting to feel that Spark, that excitement from daylight gone by. To be ... to be glad again.

She clicked on her calculator link to Literotica.com. The site was one of her favorite places to go to retrieve reading textile. Stories to record to run away the day-after-day monotony. A mean value to imagine or ambition of those things she missed so dearly. And, as she discovered, Lit had chat elbow room where she could actually verbalise with former people who like her, were looking for something other than their own day-to-day lives. She smiled as the connection was made and saw the tenacious list of fellow member'names scroll down her screen.

"Perhaps today I will meet someone new. Someone to ..."She shook her head to send packing the cerebration. desirous thinking had only made it worse in the past tense when hopes hadn't panned out. So many people online, so many looking for wink satisfaction, or into very strange things. Oh, there were soundly masses online as well, and indeed, it was a pleasure to meet them and chat. It's what kept drawing Shobha back to these chat rooms. Leslie Townes Hope.

Leaving the lobby, far too disorderly and hard to stick to any conversations there, Shobha clicked on the joint Chat Room tilt. She scrolled down the seemingly endless list of inane and sometimes freakish room epithet. She shuddered to guess of what went on in some of those rather graphically named rooms. It seemed there was a way for anyone's tastes and interests, almost not interesting her in the least. Then she paused at Playful question, almost clicking to get together the way, but then saw the Truth or Dare room."Perhaps this might be fun."Shobha thought, as she clicked to join the room.

There weren't many hoi polloi in there today. Seeing some that she had spoken with before and remembering that while it was only afternoon for her, the masses online might be somewhere else on this world, a different meter zone. Her good afternoon could very well be late in the evening for some. As was the shell for soul that she remembered from another visit to this site.

Something inside of her swelled and she felt ... igniter ... as if some weight had been lifted from her shoulders that she wasn't even cognizant of before. She liked that feeling. Shobha was greeted by others in the room and she immediately felt welcomed. There was a game in onward motion and she watched the interactions and silly chat of the others for a while. But that hungriness, that need, even if she weren't aware of it, drove her to request a private message room with him ... that friend from a old visit here to Lit.

Shobha smiled and her heart skipped a rhythm when he joined her in the private message room she created. She shyly thanked him for joining her and they chatted about nothing really other than to just kind of gimmick up with one another. It had been a twosome of week since they had last chatted here. He seemed so exposed and friendly, and there was just something ... something that touched her in a way that she so dearly missed. But how did she give tongue to that, to let him know without making it awkward ? It made her almost giddy with spunk, which also fueled that very desire for more.

< Same academic term, the former slope of the world >

Floyd sat down at his desk in front of his computing device. The big monitor lizard CRT screen blossoming to life story as it woke up from being powered down when not in use. The sluttish reflecting of his banal face and eye. It had been another yearn day at work. The long shifts were null new, but after three X, idea of retirement loomed closer every day. Perhaps then he could finally consecrate More clip to his favorite pass sentence, writing. As it was, he only had sporadic chance to write, on days off, when there were no other obligations of his time. Yes, time. It was valued indeed, and it seemed that everyone wanted some of it, for their determination.

Not that other people needing his time was a bad thing. Floyd had always been a giver, individual who would help out if he could. Anything from physical labor, to simply sitting with someone and listening to their own trouble, troubles or even dreams. Sometimes that was a gift, something that others wouldn't give to those in need. It was something that Floyd had become aware of foresighted ago. It was something that is only partially learned, some is character of our nature, at to the lowest degree it was of his anyway.

Floyd had been a shy child, exceedingly shy, blate, almost painfully shy. He slowly grew out of it as he grew older of course of instruction, but not nearly as fast as nigh people did. Even as a young man, he was still very shy and introspective. But somehow, perhaps by natural compensation, he was a peachy observer of others. A hoi polloi watcher, to a greater extent, a student of human interaction. While he might not be capable to be outgoing and extroverted as others, he learned to see clew and read between the lines. He could almost palpate the emotions of other citizenry, especially those in distress or who were troubled.

It's not always a gift, however. Being able to sense what others are feeling. No, sensing was solitary voice of it ... the curse was also feeling those emotions and touch as if they were his very own. Some say that is empathy. Or that he was an"old soul ”. Honestly Floyd didn't know what to conceive of all that but he did rather enjoy making others glad, bringing a little light and joy into their sprightliness even if only for a consequence.

writing was just an file name extension of that interest. The pursuit of happiness, both his own and that of others. He had been writing for a farsighted meter, decades. He had always had a creative streak, but it had not been recognized fully until a young fair sex that he had dated long ago had asked him to write her a story. Not just any story, but one of an adult nature, erotica. Being who and what he was, Floyd took up the asking and did just that. He wrote a floor for her. She liked it so much that he wrote another.

All proficient matter come to an end, however. When Floyd and his erotica loving girl parted elbow room, he let his writing slip into nothingness. He didn't continue to write, for a recollective, long time. life makes need of our time, gives us other anteriority. It wasn't until many, many years late that he once more picked up the pen and began writing again. And, again, it was on a challenge.

wellness proceeds and lots of time off, as well as other unrequited desires, led Floyd to explore the net. Looking for, excitement, for leakage. But as vast as the internet is, we all can become quickly jaded by the material offered. Porn is porn, and after a spell it all seems to be quite the same. Frustration is a very real predicament when you are facing it. And then Floyd stumbled across a site that offered more than just pictures or TV. They also offered erotica. Remembering his own writings decades ago, it intrigued him. So, he ventured in and read some of the offered stories.

Disappointment indeed. Maybe it wasn't the material, maybe it was his own tastes or preconceptions, either way it was awful. The stories were vulgar and petroleum at best. He had told a friend about it and was laughed at. She asked him if he could do wagerer. Floyd laughed and told her that"Hell, a blind scalawag could write better !"So, she challenged him to write something, thinking that he wouldn't.

At offset, Floyd thought he would simply dig up one of the chronicle he had written so many old age ago, and impart that to his friend to take. But then, he thought otherwise. He figured that a sound writer writes about what they know, what they are passionate about. And what did he know ? fountainhead, his own aliveness, really. His own adventure as an grownup in this crazy creation we live in. So, he set about writing about one of his"adventures ”.

Of course, Floyd changed the names of some of the characters in the story, and some minor item. This being so as to see the anonymity and privacy of those he wrote about, as well as his own. The rest was simply from memory, what actually happened, with his own feelings expressed of course. When finished, he gave it to his friend to read.

After reading the report, Floyd's friend told him that it was amazing and that he should brand it to that web situation that he had complained about. To see what others might imagine of his story. Not having thought of that before, Floyd was a footling reluctant at inaugural, but did post it eventually. And forgot about it.

A few weeks later, he remembered posting the story and went to the website to ascertain on it. It was amazing. The telephone number of people who had read his story simply blew his judgment, and those who bothered to comment were asking for and even demanding more from him. They liked it ! This was something new to Floyd. It felt good. So, he did save more. several stories written and posted before someone messaged him and suggested that he post his body of work on Literotica.com. They thought his work would be a best fit there and would be better appreciated by most subscriber.

And that was how Floyd began frequenting Literotica.com. outset to stake his own whole shebang, and then to understand those of others. He was a member for almost two eld before he ever ventured into the New World chat rooms. It was a pleasant revelation. It made him think of a site online many years ago where he had actually met his wife along with many other friends that he still had to this day. Lit became his go to site, for entertainment and socializing online.

Floyd, signed on that evening and after glancing at his home Thomas Nelson Page, clicked into the chat suite. Playful motion was a favorite, but it seemed kind of slow that evening, maybe a lot of folks in Private message rooms. He also opened up the Truth or dare room. The game could be quite toy with. Being something of a regular, he was greeted upon entering the room.

A few minutes into the game, Floyd noticed Shobha had entered the room and said hello and welcome back. She thanked him and greeted other players as well. But soon after, Floyd got a private message postulation from Shobha. Curious, and remembering a drawn-out conversation with her a few weeks ago, he happily joined her in buck private schmooze.

The two caught up for a while, verifying retention of each early. Sometimes it's easy to get confused with other exploiter as we all talk to so many the great unwashed here on Lit. Thankfully Floyd had a pretty commodity computer storage for point of individuals. All part of his past and personal induce up and reflexion science learned throughout life. Or perhaps it was that empathy playing with his mind. Whatever it was, he was happy to talk with this quiet and also somewhat shy cleaning woman.

Tonight was different somehow. Shobha seemed, I don't know, unlike. As if she were pushing herself to try more to be bolder. In Floyd's judgment it felt as if she were, not quite desperate but still longing for something. Interaction with someone that"got her ”. That understood how she felt and what she missed. She wanted or rather needed a connection on so many grade that she had been doing without for far too long.

Floyd knew from past conversations that Shobha was a widow woman. Sadly, her late husband was taken from her far too soon. She had been a unity mother raising their only if child, a girl for nearly a decade. booster and family can fill some of the vacancy, but there are matter that they can't help with. Someone else who had suffered a loss like that can translate. Floyd understood all too well, that void that ache, that motivation. Empathy might very well be real.

comparing musical note on what they liked, in something as simple as a looking, a touch ... and a osculation. It soon felt like, to both, that this friendship could be ... Sir Thomas More. Perhaps relegated to just here on Lit, in the chat rooms, online, but more. An affaire shared by two hoi polloi who had penury and understood one another on a very special point. It was, exciting.

Floyd recognized this, and taking a hazard, expressed his thoughts to Shobha about it. He told her that he was not looking to replace his loving married woman with anyone else. His essence was spoken for and even though he had love to return and share, he couldn't be swayed. Shobha seemed to sympathize and reassured him that anything to a greater extent between the two of them would only be on Lit. Their special place. She was not looking to film me away from anyone. Only to feel ... more. To experience what she had been missing for so long. Joy and happiness and fervor. They both agreed that that could be explored further ... with centre wide overt.

And so, it began.

Reality faded away with each successive jiffy. Each word on the screen blending to imprint a new tableau. The lights dimmed and from somewhere soft music began to play. The smell of sandalwood and incense was carried on a gentle breeze. A breeze that fluttered the linen table fabric and the gauzy silken scarf joint that went from ear to ear across Shobha's lovely face, covering her nose and face below, revealing only easygoing brown centre. Those deep pool of intense work and machination. They were truly windows of the soul but they were also searching.

Floyd was struck by the fragile nature of the garment. Shobha's sari was silk in a dark green people of color with silver threads interspersed within, causing it to nearly glow with each social movement no matter how subtle. She was nervous, he observed and noted almost automatically somewhere in his subconscious mind. Her hands while resting one atop the other flat on the mesa in front of her, seemed to fidget and flutter with each breath. Her flabby questioning eyes darted about as if to take in everything around her but always coming back to his, again ... seeking, searching.

Shobha's breath seemed to overhear every early breath in or out, as if she were resisting the impulse to gobble, to flee. But desire was winning out and she remained seated, tense up but excited as well. It was a feeling that Floyd understood all too well. He too felt tense and unrestrained. This was something outside of his own experience, at least recently anyway. He had not felt like this for many, many years, back when he was first dating his wife.

A pang of guilt trip momentarily blurred the visual sensation of the fair sex sitting at the small café table in straw man of him. The feelings were there, they were real in this context, but they were still overpowered by those of tangible life. There would never be a everlasting disconnect from the literal world but that's not a bad matter really. It was an ground tackle, a grounding. Reality made this all the more exceptional, didn't it ? Letting the nous go to explore and consider. Letting the heart express mail desires and longings and need and perhaps fulfilling those of another in standardised need and want. middle wide-eyed clear and hearts and judgment unresolved as well.

Shobha closed her center in world, for a import, and whispered a entreaty of pardon to her of late hubby. Professing her undying love for him. She missed him so very lots. Perhaps ... maybe ... this ally could facilitate that pain and solitariness, even just a little. He seemed so kind and reason. He wasn't pushy or suggestive like so many others have been. She truly wanted to sleep with more about him, to be his Friend ... and perhaps more.

She understood that he was as devoted to his wife as she had been to her later married man. She knew that he would persist faithful and unfeigned. But to share some joy and happiness, perhaps some erotic love, in a way, wasn't beyond hope. She found herself in that dimly lit room at the pocket-size café table. Her weapon system seemed all the darker as they lay on the stark white put off fabric clasping her hands in front of herself. A loose breeze flowed through the room moving the boundary of the hanging tablecloth and fluttering her veil and saree.

The snap felt good on the exposed tegument of her coat of arms, and legs, under the board. Opening her eyes and looking up from her hands, Shobha looked across the mesa and into the conciliate face of this unknown, this friend from online. His font was weathered by life and experience, not in a damaging way though. His grin was cushy and almost unsure, sass closed and not showing any teeth. It was his heart though, that drew her in and captured her attention. Those deep, easygoing browned eyes ... they seemed to radiate ... peace and ... what ? Some lugubriousness, yes, but understanding, and ... love. Perhaps not a quixotic erotic love, but one of acceptance and endearment all the Sami.

His broad shoulders where rounded, his arms, like her own, were resting on the table top, one hand atop the other. warm hands of someone who obviously worked with his hands. Shobha had the sentience that he was almost hugging himself, maybe internally. She had the almost overwhelming desire to be inside of that hug. Those optic and that grinning and his arms all looked so bid and ... dependable. She felt herself relaxing a bit more. Just his very presence was calming for some reason.

They had been talking of how much slight things meant like eye contact ... gazing into the eyes of somebody special. And here they were, delving into the depth of one another's center, it was strong to split her stare away from his kind middle. There was something there that drew her in deeper and deeper. Shobha didn't exactly know why, but she unconsciously raised her left hand to her compensate ear and lifted the humeral veil from behind her ear, drawing the embryonic membrane away revealing her face. Her full sensuous lips almost pouting, her smile almost faltering with plethora or uncertainty.

It was a surprise then, when after returning her hired man to the tabletop that she felt one of Floyd's hand come to roost atop of her two hands. His tactile sensation was light-headed, comforting. His tegument was warm and surprisingly soft and gentle. Her heart widened in surprise, further, when he took his other hand and brought it to her case. Floyd gently brushed a few string of informal hairsbreadth from her buttock, back behind her ear. His fingers lightly touching her tegument, then tracing down the rachis of her ear to her neck opening before returning to the table top and her custody.

She could almost feel an electric surge rush through her body as her very hide tingled at his touch. So fragile and lovingly gentle. She missed that so a great deal from her late husband. For a present moment she closed her eye and swooned, if only in her mind.

Floyd felt the warmth and softness of Shobha's skin on her forearms and hands. And the shiver that radiated through her at start contact. It reminded him of somebody from his own past times, that tactile response of everlasting inflammation and prediction. He shuddered slightly himself with the flashbulb of that oh so doting memory from longsighted ago. That look in her eyes could have been the same as well, but through different colored oculus. Yet the gleaming and the excitation and dubiousness were the same.

Those diffused embrown eyes, so wide of hope and anticipation were being blocked by a few stray filament of her dark brown fuzz. Without even a cerebration, Floyd brought his right hand up and with the backs of his fingers brushed the stray haircloth across her boldness and behind her ear. His finger lingered, gently touching the back of her ear and drifting down to the soft warm skin of her neck before returning to rest atop of her hands on the table. His hand seemed to tingle with the lingering touch modality, so electrical. He could give sworn that she held her breath then sighed when his handwriting returned to the table.

As they had spoken in the confab room earlier, so too they continued the conversation about footling things that are so important between two hoi polloi and intimacy. Eye contact, touching, conversation or at least communication. Not everything had to be spoken after all. And ... necking. To be dependable, kissing had always meant the humankind to Floyd. With someone who cared and was peculiar, hugging could even be better than sex. The intimacy was beyond reproach. He loved to osculate and be kissed. As they talked, he noticed that Shobha unconsciously licked her lips slowly, as if anticipating the touch of another's lips. His.

A building desire grew within him to cater that candy kiss to this beautiful woman. It just seemed to feel right. That feeling of reciprocal desire and trust ... and quilt. Taking a chance, he rose from his sitting position and leaned across the table, slowly approaching her. Still seated in her electric chair, almost as if frozen in property, her typeface tilted up to espouse him with those soulful searching eyes. She bit one corner of her underside lip that was quivering. Her heart seemed to get larger as he approached even closer.

Their noses nearly touching as they tilted their straits slightly to one side ... then their lip met. Both still had their eyes open until their lips collided softly. So softly as to be flimsy, tentative, the warmth and gentle softness was breathing place pickings. The first contact felt as if both were merely testing the other, getting a tactile property for unfamiliar rim. Feeling the other's desire. They paused. Floyd pulled back to once again look into Shobha's dark eyes.



The kiss was ... sweet. So very soft and endearing, it left her longing for yet more. She opened her eyes as Floyd drew back slightly, and she looked up into those Sami piano embrown eyes. They looked so languid even as he searched her own eyes for ... something. identification perhaps ... or maybe permission for more. Shobha reflexively pursed her rim and her tongue darted out to moisten them again before she gave the slightest of nods. Her lips pulled into the beginnings of a voiced smile even as they came together yet again in that soft sensual collision.

Shobha let her hands glide up the exterior of Floyd's forearms from his hands on the table to his elbows. She gripped his arms as full she could, almost desperately as if to cling to a liveliness mass while afloat in a sea or whizz almost long forgotten. Her eyes closed again as she let herself go, immersing herself entirely into the moment, into the kiss. Her tongue slipped to the back of her own lips hesitantly darting out to test Floyd's lips, only to find that his tongue was doing the same affair.

tongue met, and danced together, rolling and twirling and embracing one another while those easygoing fleshly lips continued to meld and fondle each former. Floyd withdrew his tongue briefly to pull Shobha's upper lip between his own and gently pick on it, stretching it towards him before releasing it. Not to be outdone, Shobha emitted a quiet groan and John Drew in Floyd's rear end lip between her own. Nipping at it with her teeth, stretching and drawing it out before she too released it so that they could reunite their rim and glossa.

She felt Floyd's hand, again, on her unexpended cheek. He cupped her chin and cheek. His fingers touching with a feathery elation that sent shivers down Shobha's back and caused her breath to renovate yet again. His script drifted across her cheek to her ear and then behind it, gently drawing her closer to him. His lips soon followed the path of his hand until it was next to Shobha's ear.

In a soft susurration, that could almost be mistaken for the very breeze that was still caressing them, Floyd spoke into her ear."Beauty is to be admired. A beautiful cleaning lady should be reminded that she is ... beautiful. You ... are beautiful, Shobha. Never dubiousness it, for even a moment."Then he kissed her neck just below her ear before drawing back and standing up straight.

Shobha still held his arms at the elbow in her hired man as she looked up into those soft affectionate brown center that looked at her with such wonderment and earnestness. For a here and now she was simply speechless. Her brim slightly parted and unmoving, still tingling from their kiss. Slowly they turned up into a shy smile then grew bigger, her teeth showing slightly.



She was a goddess, and she didn't even recognize the fact. It made her all the more beautiful to Floyd. The risk of exposure he took, stealing a osculation ... no, not stealing, sharing. Offering an intimate haptic communicating of admiration expressed with touch through a kiss. It was bold of him, and out of case for how he lived his life story. He had not shared such a kiss with any woman former than his wife since they were wed. But somehow, tonight, it seemed the properly thing to do. He hoped he had not ruined whatever friendship he had shared with this dusky beautiful goddess. lone metre would separate, perhaps.

"Forgive me if I've overstepped our boundaries. I know we are only friends, or were ... but I hope we still are. I just felt you should know that others, myself included, see you as an attractive and vivacious cleaning lady. Someone who should get all the tending she wants. Never doubt yourself, and if you do ... ask me again. I'll be happy to show you again what I think."Floyd said lightly but he was not really joking. He was serious.

Floyd started to say something else but paused and looked over his shoulder with a slight frown. The dimmed way seemed to fade away, the tabular array vanished. Just before Shobha felt his limb slipping out of her hands, she heard him say."Alas, the real world calls us back. Thank you, my beautiful ally ... until we meet again ...."and Shobha opened her eyes and she was sitting at her computer looking at the screenland.

"Did that just happen"Shobha asked herself as she watched the text curlicue down her screen, the yak from the chat room on Literotica seemingly non-stop, as always. She saw that Floyd was saying goodbye to the room and having to attend to material domain issue ... going to bed most importantly. Again, Shobha realized that her friend was on the other side of the planet. Her afternoon was the middle of the night for him. She sighed then brought the finger of her right hand to her backtalk ... she could avow they still tingled .... and she smiled.

~Perhaps more ? ~