NOTICE:  This story contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity 
between consenting persons.  If you are not of legal age to read such 
material, or if you find it offensive, then stop reading now.

This story is (c) Copyright 2002 by Wiseguy and may not be reposted on 
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The full text of this and all Wiseguy stories is available for download 
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I welcome all comments from readers (wiseguy35@hotmail.com).






HOLE IN MY SOUL

(c) Copyright 2002 by Wiseguy



Take a walk outside your mind
Tell me how it feels to be
The one who turns the knife inside of me
Take a look and you will find
There's nothing there girl yeah I swear
I'm telling you girl, yeah,
'Cause there's a hole in my soul
That's been killing me forever
It's a place where the garden never grows ...
			- Aerosmith, "Hole In My Soul" (Nine Lives)




I stood alone by the window, staring out.  As usual, I 
wasn't looking at anything in particular; just doing that 
unfocused, absent-minded stare that seemed to come to 
naturally to me during those days.  

My eyes were looking out the window but my thoughts were 
exactly 17.3 miles away.  On the house that I pay for, but 
can't live in; on the woman I loved for a dozen years, but 
who no longer loves me; on the daughter I used to drop off 
at school each morning, who now sees me every other weekend 
and no more.

Each morning I woke up with the same thought:  this was a 
terrible mistake.  I'd somehow ended up living the wrong 
life -- somebody else's life.  My name was on the lease for 
this fourth-floor apartment in an aging brownstone, but it 
wasn't home; I'd paid for the simple, no-frills furniture 
that was strewn around it, but it wasn't mine.   My home 
and my things were 17.3 miles away.  And I wasn't welcome 
there, for reasons I still didn't entirely know.

The radio station ended its commercial break and started 
yet another tender, romantic love song.  I'd have walked 
over and smacked it if I'd had the energy; instead, I 
simply cursed it.  Cursed the radio, and the singer, and 
the whole sadistic concept of Valentine's Day.  I used to 
like the day, back when I had a lover to share it with.  
When you're alone and don't want to be, Valentine's Day is 
like a grand party where everyone in the world is invited 
except you.  

It would have been some consolation, I suppose, to think 
that Gloria was also home alone.  But I doubted it.  When 
I'd picked up Katie for my most recent weekend visit, she'd 
been bubbling over with excitement over how Mommy's new 
friend Roger had taken her to see Lord of the Rings and 
bought her popcorn and a Frodo doll.  My first thought was 
unprintable, because I'd told Gloria I was planning to take 
Katie to that movie during our weekend; my second was that 
it hadn't taken my wife-going-on-ex-wife long to start 
lining up suitors.

That thought was interrupted when a white Mustang pulled in 
and parked in front of the building.  I recognized it 
immediately as Holly's car, and sure enough Holly got out 
of it and walked toward the building.

Holly was a good friend of mine and of Gloria's, although 
the latter relationship had seen a lot of strain since our 
marital troubles became known.  Holly had been my entire 
support network:  a shoulder to cry on when I needed to, a 
hand to shake me out of the depths of depression on 
occasion, and a brain to remind me that like it or not, I 
still had a life to live.  She was also a veteran of the 
divorce wars herself, having married Mr. Right only to have 
him turn into Mr. Wrong -- an obsessive control freak whose 
idea of a good time was to drug Holly and let his buddies 
take turns having their fun with her while he captured the 
scene on video.  

I walked over to the intercom and hit the buzzer as soon as 
it sounded.  Then I pulled the door ajar and did a quick 
pick-up on the living room.  It didn't need much -- when 
most of your time is spent staring out the window nursing 
your emotional wounds, housekeeping isn't that tough.

Holly came in just as I was fluffing the couch cushions 
where she usually likes to sit.  "Good evening," she sang, 
bumping the door closed with her butt.  She wore denim 
coveralls and a white turtleneck, and carried a white 
shopping bag and a brown paper grocery bag, and had an 
oversized purse slung over one shoulder.  I was a little 
slow to take the hint; she had to wiggle the bag a bit to 
get my attention.

"Hi, Holly," I finally said, coming forward.  I held my 
arms out for the grocery bag because it looked heavy, but 
she handed me the white bag instead.  

"This is for you," she said.  "And these," she added, 
hefting the grocery bag, "are for both of us."

Inside the shopping bag was a bottle of wine and a 
carefully-wrapped flower arrangement.  I took the flowers 
out and set them in the middle of the folding card table 
that served as my dining table.  "Nice," I remarked, taking 
an exaggerated whiff of the flowers.  

"I know you're not a big flower guy," she said, smiling, 
"but this place needs some color, and some life."  Opening 
the refrigerator, she grimaced and gave me a scolding look.  
"It also needs some food.  What have you been eating, 
Doug?"

I shrugged.  "Wheaties, mostly."

Her eyebrow shot upward.  "Without any milk?"

"What can I say?  Shopping requires motivation, and eating 
requires an appetite.  I haven't had much of either 
lately."

Holly's shoulders dropped, and she looked at me with 
sympathy in her face.  "I know," she said.  "But you have 
to take care of yourself.  Katie still needs you."

"I know she needs me," I snapped back.  "Some days that's 
the only thing that keeps me from canceling my insurance 
and jumping out the window.  That, and the perverse need 
not to make it easy for Gloria."

"But you are making it easy for her," she retorted, her 
voice still calm and compassionate.  "Look at you:  you're 
working too much, not eating right, not sleeping well 
either, from the looks of you.  Doug, you seem like you've 
aged ten years in the last two months.  If there were a 
custody hearing tomorrow, it wouldn't last five minutes."

She was right, and I knew it.  I'd been wallowing in self-
pity since the day I'd moved out of my own home, climbing 
out of the pit just enough to put on a good show for Katie 
on my precious alternate weekends.  In between those 
weekends, I was barely functional.  I'd go days without 
eating or sleeping and spend countless extra hours at my 
desk staring into space, pretending to be working, just to 
avoid coming back to this bare, soulless apartment.  But 
knowing that was one thing, and doing something about it 
was another; the first casualty of depression is the will 
to fight it.

My mouth opened, with every intention of saying as much, 
but nothing came out.  I dropped back onto the couch and 
started to cry.  A pair of warm, loving arms encircled me 
and I felt soft cotton and denim against my face.

"I know, honey," she said softly, holding me to her.  "It's 
hard when there's so much pain.  It doesn't feel like it 
now, but trust me, you will get through this and you will 
be okay.  I don't know how long it will take, but you 
will."

"I wish I was as sure of that as you are.  I just feel so 
empty ..." 

She held me for a long time, letting me quietly sob into 
her chest.  I hadn't had that kind of human contact in a 
very long time.  It felt good.

Finally, I pulled away.  "Ugh," I said, seeing the size of 
the wet spot I'd left on the front of her turtleneck. 

She looked down and shrugged.  "It'll dry.  You were there 
for me when my life turned to shit, Doug; cry on my shirt 
all you need to, if it helps."

"It did."

Holly nodded toward the kitchen.  "Ready to eat something?"

I didn't really feel hungry, but it had been something like 
36 hours since my last meal, so I lied.  "Sure."

We went back to the kitchen and Holly unveiled the contents 
of the grocery bag:  a precooked rotisserie chicken, some 
cole slaw, and a package of ready-to-bake biscuits.  The 
chicken needed a little warming up, and the biscuits needed 
20 minutes to bake, so I flipped on the oven and then 
poured wine for both of us while we waited.

I ate gingerly at first, the taste of decent food having 
been a rare sensation of late.  As we sat there, Holly kept 
up a stream of sane, normal-seeming small talk that was 
first mystifying, then mildly irritating.  I tried smiling 
and nodding pleasantly, hoping she'd take the hint.  When 
that didn't work, I started responding to her in short 
phrases:  "Sure, okay" ... "I can see that" ... "Then 
what?"  Slowly, without entirely realizing it, I found 
myself taking on my share of the conversation.

I was in the middle of a story about a trip to the zoo I'd 
taken with Katie a few weeks back, when I noticed Holly 
sitting there staring into my eyes with the most satisfied 
grin on her face I'd seen in ages.  I interrupted my story.  
"What's with you?"

"Not me," she said, grinning even wider.  "You.  You're 
animated, you're smiling, and there's a glimmer of life in 
your eye again.  I've missed you, Doug; it's good to see 
that you're still in there."

That's when it hit me.  "That's what this was all about," I 
said.  "You've been trying to draw me out."  

"Guilty," she admitted, holding out her hand.  "You can 
smack me if you want."

Instead, I took her hand and kissed it.  "Thank you," I 
told her.  "For everything.  I don't know where I'd be 
without you."

"The same place I'd be without you, maybe," she said.  
"Which reminds me.  I saw Martha Cooper today, and she 
asked about you."

I found myself shrinking back a little.  Holly had set me 
up for a session with Martha when it was obvious I wasn't 
doing well at handling the stress at home.  I was skeptical 
about how a hypnotherapist was going to help me fix my 
marriage, but I went to one session out of respect for 
Holly.  I remembered sitting in a recliner in her office, 
counting down from 500 while she told me how sleepy I felt, 
feeling like a complete idiot.  I felt a little bit better 
for a day or two after, but then things went completely to 
hell and I agreed to move out so Katie wouldn't have to 
witness Gloria trying to disembowel me at every meal.  I'd 
told myself I was doing the right thing, sparing Katie's 
feelings, but inside I felt like a complete loser.  That 
was when the depression set in.

Holly was still speaking.  "Martha mentioned that you had 
to cancel your second appointment and never called back to 
reschedule.  She wondered if you were working with someone 
else, and how you were doing."

"What did you tell her?"

Our eyes met and locked together.  "That as far as I know 
you aren't seeing anyone for help.  That I'm worried about 
you, because you seem like you've given up.  That it hurts 
to see you like that because I care about you so much.  And 
that I have dreams about you drowning in a huge, icy, 
filthy swimming pool, being pulled down by a monster you 
can't seem to fight, and even though I'm right there by the 
pool and I want to dive in and help you, I can't for fear 
that the monster will get me, too."

I could see the dismay in her eyes, and the helplessness, 
and the image of her nightmare came across to me in 
terrifying detail.  Despair, dread, that overwhelming sense 
of paralysis -- I knew them all.  In the depths of my 
imagination I recreated her scene from my angle, but I saw 
Katie with Holly on the side of the pool, screaming and 
pointing to my sinking form, while from the other side 
Gloria watched and smirked in silent triumph.

I shivered.  "Hell of an image you've drawn there, Holly.  
I'd be afraid, too.  Am afraid."  Then I squeezed her hand 
again.  

"You don't have to be," she insisted.  "Do you remember 
your finger ring?"

It took me a second, but I remembered:  in my session with 
Martha, she'd told me that any time I felt angry or afraid 
or sad, I could make a ring with my thumb and forefinger; a 
deep breath then would draw all the tension and frustration 
and anger into the ring, and when I let the breath go all 
those things would be blown away into space, to be replaced 
by focus and calm and peace.  

"I remember," I said.  I also remembered thinking there was 
no way a simple gesture like that could draw out so much 
emotional poison.

"Try using it.  Do it now."

There was such a seriousness, a barely-controlled urgency 
in Holly's voice, that it suddenly didn't seem nearly so 
far-fetched an idea.  Still looking deeply into her eyes, I 
touched my thumb and forefinger together and rubbed the 
tips against each other in a small, slow circle.  An odd, 
tingling sensation ran down my arm, as if a static charge 
were flowing down into the circle formed by my thumb and 
finger and building there, while I drew in a slow breath.  

"That's it," Holly urged, sensing what I was feeling.  
"Feel it all collecting, concentrating inside the circle.  
And when you're ready, just blow it all out and let it go."

I pursed my lips and blew the air out of my lungs; as I 
did, my finger and thumb separated and I felt that odd 
static charge drain away and leave me.  My next breath in 
brought warmth and peace, filling the holes left by what 
I'd just jettisoned.  Another breath and the feeling grew 
stronger, the warmth spreading through my system like a mug 
of hot soup on a cold afternoon.

Holly watched all of this play over my face and held my 
gaze.  "Again."  

I nodded and made my finger ring again, feeling the tingle 
as I drew in another breath, followed by the sense of 
release as I breathed out.  Another wave of contentment 
rolled in with the next breath of air, leaving my entire 
body abuzz with a kind of energy that I hadn't experienced 
in a very long time.

"How do you feel?"

It was not an idle question, and I found myself thinking 
seriously about the answer.  I looked down at my hand, then 
out into space, then back to Holly.  "Good," I replied, 
more than a little surprised to be saying it.  "I feel ... 
good."

Her smile made the feeling all that much stronger.  "I wish 
you could see yourself," she said.  "You look a lot better 
than when I first came in."

I looked at my hand, half expecting it to seem different 
somehow, but it didn't.  "I think I owe Martha an apology."

Holly beamed at me.  "I'm sure she'd love to hear it -- in 
person.  But in the meantime, I have something else from 
her for you.  Are you interested?"

I made the finger ring again, marveling at the 
effectiveness of it.  "After this, how could I not be?"

"Great.  You do the dishes while I set up a few things in 
the living room."

So I did the dishes -- not exactly a major chore, as all 
I'd had in the apartment were paper plates and disposable 
plastic knives and forks.  I put the leftover food in the 
refrigerator, the wine glasses and the cookie sheet from 
the biscuits in the dishwasher, and threw away everything 
else.  "All done."

In the living room, Holly was standing by the battered easy 
chair I'd picked up from a yard sale for fifteen bucks.  
She had a bunch of cords and electronic-looking gear in her 
hands.  "Have a seat," she directed.  "I'm just about ready 
for you."

"What's all the hardware?" I asked as I settled myself into 
the chair.  It was ugly as dirt, that chair, but still 
reasonably comfortable.

"This," she said, pointing to a flat black box she'd set on 
the end table next to me, "is a light and sound machine.  
Martha loaned it to us for tonight; she uses it with a lot 
of her patients, including me.  It's a great way to go into 
trance."  She handed what looked like a pair of mirrored 
sunglasses, but there were LED's on the backs of the 
lenses.  "You put these on and keep your eyes closed," she 
explained.  "The LED's create light patterns that put you 
into trance and keep you there while Martha makes 
suggestions.  In this case, the suggestions will be from a 
tape she made for you."  She held up a cassette tape, then 
put it into a Walkman that was connected to the other box 
by a cord.

Intrigued, I closed my eyes and put on the glasses.  I 
thought I could sense the LED's just outside my closed 
eyelids.  

"I borrowed your good headphones," Holly continued.  
"Gloria didn't seem overly interested in them, and I 
thought they'd work nicely for this."  

I felt the familiar softness of my studio headphones 
settling over my ears, blocking off almost all background 
noise.  "Now what?" I asked.

"Nothing," came her muffled voice.  "Just sit back and 
enjoy the ride."

In a few seconds, the glasses came to life.  White bands of 
light began to move across my field of vision, interweaving 
into captivating patterns.  At the same time, I became 
aware of music gently wafting into my head from the 
headphones.  The music and the patterns mixed together, 
sending me swirling and spinning into the void.

A voice began speaking from somewhere inside my head.  
"Relax, Doug," it said.  "Take a deep breath, and relax.  
Let the patterns and the music massage your mind and relax 
your body, deeply and easily.  You don't have to 
concentrate on anything, do anything, say anything, or 
think about anything ... just sit back and relax, enjoy the 
sensation of floating outside your body, while I talk to 
your subconscious for a few minutes.  You don't have to 
worry about consciously listening to me, because what I 
have to say is for your subconscious to hear and act upon.  
Your subconscious is always listening, so your conscious 
mind can just listen to the music and drift along without 
worry."

Am I hypnotized? I found myself wondering.  My body felt 
limp and weighed down, as if it were lying under a lead 
blanket, but my mind felt free and weightless, bobbing in 
the air, attached to the body only by a thin balloon 
string.  I must be, I concluded, and thought no more about 
it.

Martha's voice washed in and out of my awareness.  " ... 
feeling sad and lonely ... unloved and unlovable ... but 
it's not true ..." 

"... you don't have to be a victim, Doug ... use your 
finger ring ... will help you to stay focused and see 
clearly ..."

"... there are other women ...  capable of returning your 
love ...  Imagine now, such a woman ..."

The light waves changed color and seemed to recede, and I 
found myself arm in arm with a beautiful woman in a silky, 
backless evening gown.  We were dancing, slowly and 
sensuously, to the faintly-heard rhythms of a three-piece 
band.  The warmth of her body moving against mine, and the 
smell of her perfume, were intoxicating.  I tucked my head 
in next to hers and took in a deep breath, luxuriating in 
her scent and presence.  I heard her sigh contentedly, and 
felt her fingers gently raking across my back.  Her thigh 
brushed against mine, and I felt the telltale tingling of 
an erection forming in my pants.  She discovered it 
quickly, and moved in even closer -- so close that every 
move seemed to end up with part of her body rubbing up 
against my hard-on and making it worse.  I let my hands 
caress her bare back, sliding over to the sides, letting my 
thumbs slip inside the edges of the gown to catch the 
outsides of her breasts.

"Is my darling sleepy?" she whispered hotly into my ear.  
"Does he want to go to bed?"

"No," I answered, "and yes."

A soft, lusty laugh filled my ear.  She spun around and led 
me out of the ballroom by the hand.  "Stay close," she 
teased over her shoulder.  "We wouldn't want to offend any 
passing Republicans."

I followed her closely down a luxurious hallway to a bank 
of elevators.  One opened for us immediately.  I pressed 11 
and stepped back to a corner.  My companion backed up 
against me, pressing her backside into my overexcited 
groin, and practically purred.  Since we were alone in the 
elevator, I slipped my hands inside the gown from the sides 
and hugged her tightly, then slid my hands up her smooth 
belly and found her breasts.  The nipples were already 
hard, and by the time we reached the eleventh floor they 
were much more so.  I pulled my hands free just as the 
doors opened, and not a second too soon -- there was an 
elderly couple waiting on the other side.  We smiled and 
waved pleasantly as we slunk out of the elevator, me hiding 
my erection behind my companion while she tried to 
nonchalantly smooth out her gown.  

I slipped my hands inside her gown again while she fumbled 
in her purse for the room key.  She moaned and leaned 
against me.  "Stop," she pleaded unconvincingly.  "You're 
only making it harder to get the door open."

"Delayed gratification," I remarked.  "And you're right, 
something is definitely getting harder."

Somehow she managed to insert the little card in the slot 
and push the door open.  "Let's get inside before someone 
calls security on us."

Grudgingly, I removed my hands from inside her dress and 
followed her into the room.  No sooner had I shut the door 
than she was pressing me against it, kissing me feverishly 
while her hands went to work undressing me.  I returned the 
favor, lifting the neck strap over her head and letting the 
gown fall to the floor.  She wasn't wearing much else -- 
just a thong and heels -- so I turned my attention to 
getting myself into a comparable state of undress.  Neither 
one of us was in a mood to be dainty, so in a matter of 
seconds every stitch either of us had worn was on the floor 
at our feet.  I grabbed her under the bottom, lifted her 
up, and started walking into the still-dark room.  She 
grabbed the woodwork and squeezed me with her legs  "What 
do you think you're doing?"

"Carrying you to the bed so I can ravish you."

"No," she insisted.  "Right here.  Right now."

"My pleasure."  I smiled and turned, putting her beautiful 
back against the door.  Her arms went around my neck and 
pulled me in for a smoldering kiss.  With some of the 
weight off my hands, I reached inward to see if she was 
ready for me.  She was dripping.  I moved her hips, lifted 
a little, and let my shaft find its intended home.  She 
wiggled and shifted, improving the angle for both of us, 
and wrapped her legs around me.

"That's it," she moaned into my ear.  "Fuck me, Doug.  Fuck 
me hard."

I pushed into her again and again, rattling the door with 
each thrust.  Her moans grew louder and longer, and soon I 
felt her clenching around me and squealing with delight.  I 
held back until I couldn't possibly contain it any more and 
then burst with an orgasm that left me weak and shaking.  
We ended up in a tangled heap on the floor, amidst our own 
discarded clothing, still coupled while we recovered our 
breath.

Everything faded to black.  It seemed unnervingly quiet, 
until I realized that the music had stopped.  Then I felt 
the headphones being lifted off my head, and realized I was 
still in my apartment hooked up to the light and sound 
machine.

I took off the glasses and opened my eyes slowly.  The 
light flooding in from the room left me feeling dizzy and 
disoriented.  The first thing I focused on was Holly's 
face, watching mine.  "How was it?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," I answered slowly.  "I'm a little wonky 
still.  How long?"

"About half an hour.  Take your time; I know it always 
takes me a minute or two to get oriented again."

As I looked around me, taking stock, I felt as though I'd 
become hyper-aware of my surroundings.  Aware of the faint 
sounds of the central heat kicking in to warm the room; 
aware of Holly's presence, so close and warm at my side; 
aware of the wet, sticky feeling in my pants.  "What the 
hell ..."

"Martha said it was a guided imagery exercise," Holly 
explained.  "Apparently, a pretty hot one.  You'll have to 
tell me about it some time."

I looked up at Holly and saw her as if in a new light.  Her 
skin was pink and warm, her eyes held the telltale shine of 
excitement, and her nostrils flared as she looked down at 
me.  I reached up and touched a hand to her cheek, feeling 
the heat transfer from her to me.  I slid the hand further 
up, inside her golden hair, and gently pulled her down for 
a kiss.

We kissed for a long time, tentatively at first and then 
with growing need.  By the time we came up for air, Holly 
was straddling me in the chair and her coverall straps had 
fallen aside,   I watched her face for any hint of doubt; 
for answer, she grabbed her turtleneck by the bottom hem, 
pulled it off and tossed it aside in one smooth motion.  
She wore a nice off-white bra with translucent cups and 
thin straps.  I admired the view for a moment, then 
stripped off my polo shirt and undershirt together, 
discarding them on the floor nearby.  My hands explored her 
upper body, enjoying the feel of smooth skin over muscle 
and looking for the buttons that would give me more access 
inside the coveralls.  I could feel myself getting harder 
and harder as Holly's weight shifted, grinding her pelvic 
region into mine.  

"Hold on," I warned her.  She encircled my neck with her 
arms, and I used leverage and strong leg muscles to first 
slide down into a squat, then stand with Holly firmly held 
against my upper body.  My face was level with her 
cleavage, which was just fine with me.  

Holly squealed gaily as I hefted her in place.  "What are 
you doing?"

"I haven't made love to anyone in five months," I said.  
"I'm going to do this right."  Shifting her a little so I 
could see enough to navigate, I headed for the back of the 
apartment, kicked the bedroom door open, and deposited 
Holly on her back on the modest steel-frame bed.

I stood there admiring her for a few seconds.  She gave me 
a lusty look, arched her back, and reached behind to unhook 
her bra.  I smiled and watched the bra come off while I 
hastily removed her shoes and socks.  Holly's breasts were 
beautiful:  firm and round and just a little paler than the 
rest of her.  The nipples were standing proud, begging me 
to do something with them.  

But first things first.  My hands gripped the sides of her 
coveralls, hooked the waistband of her panties at the same 
time, and pulled both off together up and over my head, 
dropping them behind me somewhere.  I didn't care where -- 
I was too interested in the newly-revealed sights before me 
to pay attention to what landed behind me.  Holly's legs 
were resting on my chest, so I took the left one and kissed 
the ankle, then an inch further up from the ankle, and an 
inch further up from that.  Holly moaned in appreciation as 
I inched my way up the inside of her leg, to the thigh, and 
deeper.  I dropped to my knees at mid-thigh and kissed my 
way all the way to her holy of holies, where a glistening 
blonde thatch and an intoxicating scent waited to greet me.  
I nuzzled her mound and inhaled deeply, memorizing the 
smell of her, letting it work its way into my system and 
awaken the animal within.  Holly's moans and cries grew 
more frequent and more breathless as I explored every inch 
of the new territory, learning through experimentation 
exactly where and how I could apply a tongue or a kiss to 
drive her nuts.  Her button stood out and begged for my 
attention, so I gave it plenty, and before long Holly was 
bucking and squealing and crushing my head between her 
powerful thighs.  Not that I minded -- it was exquisite 
agony for me, and had me almost ready to come again.  I 
willed myself not to and concentrated on giving Holly the 
ride of her life.  Every time she seemed to be fading, I'd 
try a different lick or stroke or suck and she'd be 
galvanized into moaning, gasping action again.  

After several climaxes -- or maybe it was just one very 
long, sustained one -- Holly took charge.  She grabbed me 
by the hair and hauled my face up where she could see me.  
"That was phenomenal," she said, "but if you keep that up 
much longer I'm going to pass out before we get to the main 
event.  Help me up."  She held out her hands.  I took them, 
stood, and hauled her up into a sitting position.  She had 
my pants and underwear undone and around my ankles in 
seconds.  My cock was at full alert and pointing straight 
forward.  She took it lovingly in her hands and began to 
caress it.  "There it is," she crooned.  "This is what I 
was feeling in that chair.  And it's long overdue for some 
serious stimulation."  Her fingers traced the length of my 
shaft.  One hand reached further back and caressed my balls 
while the other paid careful, loving attention to the most 
sensitive parts of the head and fuselage.  All I could do 
was stand there and groan in pleasure.

"I think he likes it," she teased, and pulled me closer.  
"Let's try a little of this."  Reaching around, she fondled 
my balls from behind and let her breasts surround and 
massage the iron in front.  I'd never felt anything like it 
before:  my knees got weak, and there was a sudden surge of 
pleasure and great urgency in my groin.

"Oh, god," I groaned desperately.  "I can't hold it much 
longer, Holly."

She laughed softly and reclined back on the bed, guiding my 
aching member toward her center.  "Then don't try."

I plunged my raging cock into her, burying it to the hilt, 
with a gutteral moan.  The sensation of her tissues 
clamping down around it, squeezing, was too much -- I 
exploded into her immediately, desperately grabbing onto 
the mattress for support as my legs wouldn't hold me any 
longer.  Holly's legs helped to hold me in place while my 
body clenched and released, and just as I was about to fall 
back onto the floor I felt strong arms helping to pull me 
onto the bed.  My mouth found a nipple within reach, so I 
latched onto it and sucked while I waited for my strength 
to return.

I was half asleep when I felt Holly stir and start to get 
up.  I threw an arm around her and drew her closer.  "I'm 
sorry," I said.

Holly gave me a sharp look.  "Sorry?  About what?  I 
haven't been bedded that well in ... well, in ever."  

I laughed, which got Holly looking at me strangely.  
"Gloria," I explained.  "Wanted me to go down on her like 
that, but she has a lot of long, tangly hair down there and 
it was hard to do without gagging.  When I suggested she 
let me trim it up for her, she took offense -- gave me the 
cold shoulder for two weeks."

Holly laughed with me.  "Poor Gloria doesn't know what 
she's missing.  You can do that for me anytime you want, 
Doug."  Then her face grew serious.  "But really, it 
shouldn't be any time soon."

"I know.  Gloria would love to be able to nail me for 
adultery.  Which would be ironic, since she's probably been 
committing it herself with that ape Roger."

Holly cleared her throat.  "More than probably, I'd say.  
When I stopped by the house to pick up your headphones, she 
and Roger were there and Katie wasn't.  Katie is spending 
the night at her friend Alexa's."

That hurt, but nowhere near as much as it would have two 
hours before.  I just nodded silently.

Holly's eyes captured mine again, and I saw the deep 
concern in them.  "Are you okay, Doug?"

I thought about it.  Things were still pretty much the same 
as they'd been when Holly arrived:  I was still living in a 
cheap, dingy apartment full of yard-sale furniture, 
isolated from my family, and looking into the maw of a 
long, ugly divorce.  But something had definitely changed -
- the dark void inside me was rapidly closing.  "I'm okay," 
I assured her.  "I'm not alone anymore."

"You never were.  Not really."

"You're right, of course.  But I felt that way -- that is,  
I let myself feel that way.  But not anymore.  I have you, 
and I have Katie, and I have a life that's worth holding on 
to.  Gloria is in for one hell of a fight." 

Holly beamed at me, a slight tear in her eye, then pulled 
me to her for another long, loving kiss.  "It's great to 
have you back, Doug," she told me.  "Happy Valentine's 
Day."



-wg
2/16/02