Every day on her way to work, Willa passed a park where a beautiful woman played with her dog. Willa gradually developed feelings for her, finding happiness in simply seeing her. However, the possibility that the woman might be straight and have a family made Willa hesitant to approach her, so she admired her from a distance.
One day, Willa found the woman sobbing alone in the park. After inquiring, she learned that the woman’s dog was seriously ill. Willa offered compassionate comfort, and from that day on, they became acquainted and eventually developed a relationship that grew into more than just friendship.
And then we’d made slow, languid love – neither of us had anything left to prove so our time together had become something gradual and intense rather than pure raw need. I loved the scent of her after sex. She reached over me to put her wineglass aside; her breast brushed over me and I…
Sam lost her temper. “Yes, I’m fucking that wonderful woman!” she shouted back at him. “I’m fucking her up, down, sideways, inside and outside, backwards and forwards, in all the wonderful ways that you never deigned to show me while you were sleeping around, you lying, womanising pile of philandering baggage! How long was it,…
“Your psycho murder-husband is out prowling the countryside with a cricket bat and God knows whatever other weapons he has managed to find. We have a handbag and a suitcase and our wits to defend ourselves with. In short, we’re absolutely fucked. So I’m letting you know. Just so you know. I love you more…
Her hands clenched and released on me; her old, old tell that she was close to breaking. “Sometimes these things take time,” I comforted her as I gently kissed her brow. “Give it time. You have time. You have all the time in the world now. She’s going nowhere. And neither am I.” And then…
“Well, I’m on my way back to you now, but… hopefully only long enough to load you up and take you with me.” “… oh.” I squeaked, suddenly blushing. “I… I had this horrible thought…” “What… that I wanted to be in a strange room in a strange place all by myself on Sunday night?…
“So tell me already.” “Mark’s mother phoned me earlier.” “Oh. Fuck. Your mum in law?” “I suppose. Anyway… she phoned to accuse me of being an home-wrecker and an adulteress and a lesbian slut. Not that she used the final word; she’s entirely too upper class to be so crude. I did find the term…
“It’s Mark’s father,” she said softly. “Fuck. Sorry. I’ve got to take this.” “What! Why!” I exclaimed. She put her finger to her lips and picked up her phone. “Hello? Sir Malcolm?” … Sir Malcolm, I mouthed, stunned. Well… Fuck. No wonder she’d said her in-laws were wealthy but never gone into the details. Malcolm…
“Oh. Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Mark never… I didn’t know…I’m so sorry…” “It’s years ago, now, my girl. Water long, long under the bridge and out to the all-embracing sea. So…” He went silent, the phone cracked for a moment. “Damn and blast this dust,” he muttered, voice strangely thick. “Samantha, I would…
And another step. And then the front door of the farmhouse burst open and I was in her arms; she was shuddering, hair a disordered scarlet mess in the the glow from her small hallway; light painting a little pathway of golden illumination around us and onwards into the evening shadow. I dropped my suitcase…