Shobha's osculation

With a fag sigh and a faint glimmer of hope, Shobha once Sir Thomas More sat down at her desk at dwelling house and powered up her calculator. It had been another farseeing day of piece of work dealing with other peoples'headache and need. So often it fell to her to mollify those so-called emergencies and disasters. She was practiced at her job, perhaps too serious, since she always seemed to be in demand. But that was work, not her private life history. That was another story.

Shobha was still a immature woman, at to the lowest degree in her own psyche, though she often felt so very tired. Tired of all the senseless drama at employment and in other hoi polloi's lives, affair that really didn't affair to her. She longed for more, however. Not more drama, just more ... life-time ... for herself. It wasn't selfishness, it was more lonesomeness. She knew that she was loved, at least by her girl, the sparkle of her life.

Her daughter was indeed her swell treasure, but she was also a changeless reminder of the making love that she once felt from the man of her lifespan. Her girl's don. He was taken too soon from this life-time and left Shobha ... alone. Well, except for her daughter. Too soon, and dearly missed more than anyone realized. There was left an aching emptiness where love used to meet her very someone. The memory of that making love was a small comfort but it was also causal agency of melancholy.

Shobha envied her daughter in some ways. The daughter was just beginning her life as an adult. Everything was new and saucy and exciting. Shobha longed for those Day, or at least the flavour. She missed so much of her yesteryear. She felt as though she were simply waiting now, waiting to feel that twinkle, that excitement from Clarence Shepard Day Jr. gone by. To be ... to be felicitous again.

She clicked on her information processing system link to Literotica.com. The site was one of her favorite billet to go to observe reading material. Stories to learn to escape the day-after-day monotony. A means to imagine or dream of those thing she missed so dearly. And, as she discovered, Lit had chat rooms where she could actually sing with other people who like her, were looking for something other than their own daily lives. She smiled as the connection was made and saw the long list of member'names scroll down her filmdom.

"Perhaps today I will meet someone new. mortal to ..."She shook her nous to dismiss the opinion. aspirant thinking had only made it worse in the past tense when hopes hadn't panned out. So many people online, so many looking for instant gratification, or into very strange things. Oh, there were good people online as well, and indeed, it was a delight to meet them and chat. It's what kept drawing Shobha back to these chat rooms. Bob Hope.

Leaving the pressure group, far too chaotic and hard to follow any conversations there, Shobha clicked on the Join Old World chat room list. She scrolled down the seemingly endless lean of inane and sometimes gonzo room names. She shuddered to think of what went on in some of those rather graphically named rooms. It seemed there was a room for anyone's tastes and pursuit, most not interesting her in the least. Then she paused at Playful Questions, almost clicking to bring together the way, but then saw the the true or Dare elbow room."Perhaps this might be fun."Shobha thought, as she clicked to connect the room.

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

Something inside of her intumesce and she felt ... igniter ... as if some weight had been lifted from her shoulder joint that she wasn't even mindful of before. She liked that flavour. Shobha was greeted by others in the way and she immediately felt welcomed. There was a game in advancement and she watched the interactions and silly chat of the others for a patch. But that yearning, that need, even if she weren't aware of it, drove her to bespeak a private message way with him ... that friend from a previous visit here to Lit.

Shobha smiled and her heart skipped a beat when he joined her in the individual content room she created. She shyly thanked him for joining her and they chatted about goose egg really other than to just form of catch up with one another. It had been a duad of weeks since they had in conclusion chatted here. He seemed so open and friendly, and there was just something ... something that touched her in a way that she so dearly missed. But how did she verbalize that, to let him have a go at it without making it awkward ? It made her almost giddy with nerves, which also fueled that very desire for more.

< Same session, the early slope of the world >

Floyd sat down at his desk in front of his computer. The big monitor screen blossoming to living as it woke up from being powered down when not in use. The light reflecting of his tired fount and eyes. It had been another long day at work. The long shifts were nothing new, but after three decades, view of retreat loomed closer every day. Perhaps then he could finally devote more meter to his preferred head time, writing. As it was, he only had sporadic opportunity to spell, on daytime off, when there were no other responsibility of his time. Yes, meter. It was precious indeed, and it seemed that everyone wanted some of it, for their purposes.

Not that early the great unwashed needing his meter was a bad thing. Floyd had always been a giver, person who would assist out if he could. Anything from strong-arm working class, to simply sitting with someone and listening to their own trouble, difficulty or even aspiration. Sometimes that was a endowment, something that others wouldn't give to those in need. It was something that Floyd had become aware of long ago. It was something that is only partially learned, some is part of our nature, at least it was of his anyway.

Floyd had been a shy shaver, exceedingly shy, blate, almost painfully shy. He slowly grew out of it as he grew senior of track, but not nearly as fast as most people did. Even as a young man, he was still very shy and introverted. But somehow, perhaps by instinctive compensation, he was a keen observer of others. A citizenry watcher, more, a student of homo interaction. While he might not be able to be outgoing and extroverted as others, he learned to see clues and read between the lines. He could almost find the emotions of other people, 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 entirely role of it ... the curse was also feeling those emotions and flavor 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 think of all that but he did rather delight making others happy, bringing a small light and joy into their spirit even if only for a moment.

Writing was just an extension of that pursuit. The pursuit of happiness, both his own and that of others. He had been writing for a foresightful time, decennary. He had always had a creative stripe, but it had not been recognized fully until a young cleaning lady that he had dated long ago had asked him to drop a line her a story. Not just any story, but one of an adult nature, erotica. Being who and what he was, Floyd took up the request and did just that. He wrote a level for her. She liked it so much that he wrote another.

All dear things come to an end, however. When Floyd and his pornography loving fille parted agency, he let his writing slip into nothingness. He didn't continue to write, for a long, recollective time. Life makes requirement of our meter, gives us former priorities. 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.

health issues and sight of time off, as well as other unanswered desires, led Floyd to explore the net. Looking for, excitement, for escape. But as huge as the cyberspace is, we all can go quickly jaded by the material offered. Porn is porn, and after a spell it all seems to be quite the same. thwarting is a very substantial predicament when you are facing it. And then Floyd stumbled across a site that offered more than just photograph or video recording. They also offered erotica. Remembering his own committal to writing decades ago, it intrigued him. So, he ventured in and record some of the offered stories.

letdown indeed. Maybe it wasn't the fabric, maybe it was his own tastes or preconceived opinion, either way it was awful. The stories were vernacular and crude at best. He had told a friend about it and was laughed at. She asked him if he could do better. Floyd laughed and told her that"Hell, a subterfuge monkey could compose ameliorate !"So, she challenged him to write something, thinking that he wouldn't.

At first base, Floyd thought he would simply dig up one of the stories he had written so many geezerhood ago, and establish that to his friend to understand. But then, he thought otherwise. He figured that a good writer writes about what they know, what they are passionate about. And what did he love ? fountainhead, his own life, really. His own dangerous undertaking as an adult in this crazy world we live in. So, he set about writing about one of his"adventures ”.

Of course, Floyd changed the name calling of some of the fictional character in the account, and some minor details. This being so as to check 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 smell expressed of course of instruction. When finished, he gave it to his friend to read.

After reading the chronicle, Floyd's acquaintance told him that it was amazing and that he should carry it to that web site that he had complained about. To see what others might think of his story. Not having thought of that before, Floyd was a little reluctant at maiden, but did post it eventually. And forgot about it.

A few hebdomad later, he remembered posting the history and went to the land site to learn on it. It was amazing. The number of multitude who had read his story simply blew his idea, and those who bothered to annotate were asking for and even demanding more from him. They liked it ! This was something new to Floyd. It felt good. So, he did write more. respective stories written and posted before someone messaged him and suggested that he post his work on Literotica.com. They thought his work would be a well fit there and would be better appreciated by most readers.

And that was how Floyd began frequenting Literotica.com. outset to post his own study, and then to interpret those of others. He was a member for almost two old age before he ever ventured into the schmooze elbow room. It was a pleasant Apocalypse. It made him think of a site online many days ago where he had actually met his wife along with many other friend 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 base pageboy, clicked into the chat rooms. Playful interrogation was a deary, but it seemed kind of slow that evening, maybe a lot of tribe in Private message elbow room. He also opened up the Truth or Dare elbow room. The game could be quite flirt 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 role player as well. But soon after, Floyd got a private subject matter postulation from Shobha. Curious, and remembering a lengthy conversation with her a few calendar week ago, he happily joined her in private confabulation.

The two caught up for a while, verifying retentiveness of each other. Sometimes it's easy to get confused with early substance abuser as we all talk to so many people here on Lit. Thankfully Floyd had a pretty good memory for details of individuals. All piece of his past times and personal make up and reflection skills learned throughout life. Or perhaps it was that empathy playing with his judgement. Whatever it was, he was happy to verbalise with this quiesce and also somewhat shy woman.

Tonight was different somehow. Shobha seemed, I don't know, different. As if she were pushing herself to try Sir Thomas More to be bolder. In Floyd's creative thinker it felt as if she were, not quite despairing 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 association on so many levels that she had been doing without for far too long.

Floyd knew from past conversations that Shobha was a widow. Sadly, her late husband was taken from her far too soon. She had been a single mother raising their only if baby, a daughter for nearly a tenner. Friends and kinsfolk can satisfy some of the nullity, but there are things that they can't service with. soul else who had suffered a loss like that can understand. Floyd understood all too well, that void that ache, that need. Empathy might very well be real.

Comparing annotation on what they liked, in something as simple as a look, a jot ... and a kiss. It soon felt ilk, to both, that this friendship could be ... more. Perhaps relegated to just here on Lit, in the schmoose rooms, online, but Thomas More. An liaison shared by two people who had needs and understood one another on a very special floor. It was, exciting.

Floyd recognized this, and taking a risk, expressed his thoughts to Shobha about it. He told her that he was not looking to replace his loving wife with anyone else. His heart was spoken for and even though he had love to chip in and share, he couldn't be swayed. Shobha seemed to understand and reassured him that anything more than between the two of them would only be on Lit. Their special place. She was not looking to take me away from anyone. Only to sense ... more. To experience what she had been missing for so long. Joy and happiness and agitation. They both agreed that that could be explored further ... with heart all-encompassing open.

And so, it began.

world faded away with each successive heartbeat. Each Word on the screen blending to form a new tableau vivant. The Christ Within dimmed and from somewhere soft music began to make for. The sense of smell of sandalwood and incense was carried on a lenient breeze. A breeze that fluttered the linen table cloth and the gauzy silken scarf that went from ear to ear across Shobha's lovely nerve, covering her nose and face below, revealing only diffuse Brown eyes. Those trench puddle of intense cogitation and intrigue. They were truly windows of the individual but they were also searching.

Floyd was struck by the delicate nature of the garment. Shobha's sari was silk in a wickedness green color with ash grey yarn interspersed within, causing it to nearly glow with each drive no topic how subtle. She was nervous, he observed and noted almost automatically somewhere in his subconscious mind. Her script while resting one atop the other matte on the tabular array in social movement of her, seemed to fidget and palpitate with each breath. Her soft questioning centre darted about as if to take in everything around her but always coming back to his, again ... seeking, searching.

Shobha's intimation seemed to catch every other breath in or out, as if she were resisting the itch to bolt, to take flight. But desire was winning out and she remained seated, tense up but excited as well. It was a tactile sensation that Floyd understood all too well. He too felt strain and excited. 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 feelings momentarily blurred the sight of the woman sitting at the small café table in front of him. The feelings were there, they were real in this context, but they were still overpowered by those of real life story. There would never be a arrant gulf from the very world but that's not a bad matter really. It was an linchpin, a grounding. realism made this all the more exceptional, didn't it ? Letting the mind go to search and consider. Letting the heart express mail desires and longings and pauperism and perhaps fulfilling those of another in exchangeable need and want. eyes wide capable and spirit and minds outdoors as well.

Shobha closed her eyes in realism, for a moment, and whispered a prayer of forgiveness to her previous husband. Professing her undying love life for him. She missed him so very much. Perhaps ... maybe ... this friend could relieve that pain in the neck and loneliness, even just a trivial. He seemed so kind and discernment. He wasn't pushy or suggestive like so many others have been. She truly wanted to get laid Sir Thomas 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 late husband. She knew that he would remain congregation and true. But to share some joy and happiness, perhaps some dearest, in a way, wasn't beyond promise. She found herself in that dimly lit room at the small café board. Her arms seemed all the darker as they lay on the stark Stanford White tabularise cloth clasping her hands in social movement of herself. A light snap flowed through the elbow room moving the edge of the hanging tablecloth and fluttering her head covering and sari.

The breeze felt good on the exposed skin of her subdivision, and legs, under the table. Opening her eyes and looking up from her hired man, Shobha looked across the table and into the aristocratical face of this stranger, this acquaintance from online. His face was weathered by life and experience, not in a negative way though. His smile was soft and almost faint, mouth closed and not showing any tooth. It was his eyes though, that drew her in and captured her care. Those mystifying, soft browned eyes ... they seemed to radiate ... peace and ... what ? Some sadness, yes, but understanding, and ... erotic love. Perhaps not a wild-eyed love, but one of banker's acceptance and endearment all the Saami.

His broad shoulder where rounded, his arms, like her own, were resting on the table top, one hand atop the other. Strong hired man of someone who obviously worked with his manus. Shobha had the sense that he was almost hugging himself, maybe internally. She had the almost overwhelming desire to be inside of that hug. Those centre and that grinning and his arms all looked so ask for and ... safe. She felt herself relaxing a bit more. Just his very front was calming for some reason.

They had been talking of how much short affair meant like eye contact ... gazing into the eye of someone special. And here they were, delving into the depths of one another's center, it was surd to break her gaze away from his kind eyes. There was something there that drew her in deeper and deeper. Shobha didn't exactly lie with why, but she unconsciously raised her left hand to her right ear and lifted the humeral veil from behind her ear, drawing the humeral veil away revealing her look. Her full moon sensuous brim almost pouting, her smile almost faltering with embarrassment or uncertainty.

It was a surprise then, when after returning her hired man to the tabletop that she felt one of Floyd's hands come to rest atop of her two helping hand. His trace was light, comforting. His skin was fond and surprisingly gentle and blue-blooded. Her eyes widened in surprisal, further, when he took his other hand and brought it to her face. Floyd gently brushed a few strands of loose hair from her cheek, back behind her ear. His fingers lightly touching her pelt, then tracing down the back of her ear to her cervix before returning to the table top and her hands.

She could almost feel an electric automobile surge rush through her consistence as her very scrape tingled at his touch. So fragile and lovingly patrician. She missed that so lots from her belatedly husband. For a moment she closed her oculus and swooned, if only in her intellect.

Floyd felt the warmheartedness and fogginess of Shobha's skin on her forearms and hands. And the tremble that radiated through her at first gear impinging. It reminded him of person from his own past, that tactile response of pure excitement and anticipation. He shuddered slightly himself with the flash of that oh so doting computer memory from long ago. That tone in her eyes could have been the Lapplander as well, but through unlike colored center. Yet the lambency and the excitement and doubtfulness were the same.

Those soft Robert Brown eyes, so broad of Leslie Townes Hope and prediction were being blocked by a few stray strands of her sullen brownness tomentum. Without even a cerebration, Floyd brought his right handwriting up and with the spinal column of his fingers brushed the divagate hairs across her cheek and behind her ear. His fingers lingered, gently touching the back of her ear and drifting down to the voiced warm hide of her neck opening before returning to stay atop of her hands on the tabular array. His helping hand seemed to tingle with the lingering touch, so electric. He could have sworn that she held her breath then sighed when his helping hand returned to the table.

As they had spoken in the confabulation elbow room earlier, so too they continued the conversation about little things that are so important between two people and intimacy. Eye touch, touching, conversation or at to the lowest degree communication. Not everything had to be spoken after all. And ... caressing. To be honest, kissing had always meant the world to Floyd. With someone who cared and was special, kissing could even be well than sex. The intimacy was beyond reproach. He loved to kiss and be kissed. As they talked, he noticed that Shobha unconsciously licked her lips slowly, as if anticipating the ghost of another's sass. His.

A building desire grew within him to ply that kiss to this beautiful woman. It just seemed to experience right. That feeling of mutual desire and trust ... and comfort. Taking a opportunity, he rose from his sitting stance and leaned across the table, slowly approaching her. Still seated in her chair, almost as if frozen in place, her case tilted up to follow him with those soulful searching eyes. She bit one corner of her tail end lip that was quivering. Her optic seemed to get larger as he approached even closer.

Their olfactory organ nearly touching as they tilted their brain slightly to one side ... then their lips met. Both still had their optic open until their backtalk collided softly. So softly as to be tenuous, tentative, the warmth and gentle softness was breath taking. The kickoff contact felt as if both were merely testing the former, getting a feel for unfamiliar sass. Feeling the other's desire. They paused. Floyd pulled back to once again look into Shobha's dark eyes.



The osculation was ... afters. So very soft and endearing, it left her longing for yet more. She opened her middle as Floyd drew back slightly, and she looked up into those Sami piano Brown oculus. They looked so woolgathering even as he searched her own middle for ... something. Recognition perhaps ... or maybe permission for more than. Shobha reflexively pursed her back talk and her tongue darted out to dampen them again before she gave the little of nods. Her lip pulled into the beginnings of a soft smile even as they came together yet again in that indulgent sensual collision.

Shobha let her deal glide up the exterior of Floyd's forearms from his deal on the mesa to his elbows. She gripped his arms as full she could, almost desperately as if to cling to a life mickle while afloat in a sea or sensations almost long forgotten. Her heart closed again as she let herself go, immersing herself entirely into the bit, into the kiss. Her tongue slipped to the back of her own lips hesitantly darting out to try Floyd's lips, only to observe that his tongue was doing the same thing.

lingua met, and danced together, rolling and twirling and embracing one another while those subdued sultry lips continued to fuse and caress each other. Floyd withdrew his tongue briefly to draw Shobha's upper lip between his own and gently nibble on it, stretching it towards him before releasing it. Not to be outdone, Shobha emitted a quiet moan and Drew in Floyd's bottom lip between her own. Nipping at it with her dentition, stretching and drawing it out before she too released it so that they could reunite their rim and tongues.

She felt Floyd's paw, again, on her left impertinence. He cupped her chin and cheek. His fingers touching with a feathery lightness that sent thrill down Shobha's back and caused her breathing space to accelerate yet again. His hand drifted across her cheek to her ear and then behind it, gently drawing her closer to him. His back talk soon followed the path of his script until it was next to Shobha's ear.

In a soft whisper, that could almost be mistaken for the very duck soup that was still caressing them, Floyd spoke into her ear."sweetheart is to be admired. A beautiful womanhood should be reminded that she is ... beautiful. You ... are beautiful, Shobha. Never incertitude 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 blazonry at the human elbow in her hands as she looked up into those soft warm John Brown eyes that looked at her with such wonder and sincerity. For a moment she was simply speechless. Her lips slightly parted and nonmoving, still tingling from their candy kiss. Slowly they turned up into a shy smile then grew adult, her teeth showing slightly.



She was a goddess, and she didn't even pick out the fact. It made her all the more beautiful to Floyd. The risk he took, stealing a candy kiss ... no, not stealing, sharing. Offering an intimate tactile communication of wonder expressed with mite through a osculation. It was bold of him, and out of character for how he lived his life. He had not shared such a kiss with any cleaning woman other than his wife since they were wed. But somehow, tonight, it seemed the right-hand thing to do. He hoped he had not ruined whatever friendly relationship he had shared with this dusky beautiful goddess. Only time would secern, perhaps.

"Forgive me if I've overstepped our edge. I know we are only friends, or were ... but I hope we still are. I just felt you should cognise that others, myself included, see you as an attractive and vibrant adult female. mortal who should get all the attending she wants. Never doubtfulness 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 thin frown. The dimmed room seemed to fade away, the table vanished. Just before Shobha felt his subdivision slipping out of her hands, she heard him say."Alas, the real world calls us back. Thank you, my beautiful friend ... until we meet again ...."and Shobha opened her heart and she was sitting at her computer looking at the screen.

"Did that just happen"Shobha asked herself as she watched the text scroll down her screen, the chatter from the chat elbow room on Literotica seemingly non-stop, as always. She saw that Floyd was saying auf wiedersehen to the room and having to assist to real public matters ... going to bed most importantly. Again, Shobha realized that her friend was on the other side of the planet. Her afternoon was the midsection of the night for him. She sighed then brought the digit of her mighty hired hand to her lips ... she could swear they still tingled .... and she smiled.

~Perhaps more ? ~