chris2c4u
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 16, 2004
- Posts
- 6,747
Sweethearts 5
She paced the room, a parody of hope. A strange footfall, carefully placed. She was hoping her ritual would conjure him. Deliver him, back to her.
She paced, year after year, the lingerie floating back around her ankles, until she lost count of her footfall.
When is hope lost? Hope of the feel of sex, the joining surrender, the petit mort no more reborn?
He wondered and watched her. The odd rituals she enacted, so many years since her descent into dementia. He pressed against the barrier between them; no matter how he shouted she did not hear. She paced.
She paced the room, a parody of hope. A strange footfall, carefully placed. She was hoping her ritual would conjure him. Deliver him, back to her.
She paced, year after year, the lingerie floating back around her ankles, until she lost count of her footfall.
When is hope lost? Hope of the feel of sex, the joining surrender, the petit mort no more reborn?
He wondered and watched her. The odd rituals she enacted, so many years since her descent into dementia. He pressed against the barrier between them; no matter how he shouted she did not hear. She paced.