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A simple reunion turns into a mutual loss of virginity.

She felt disjointed from the reality of her world - it hit her so suddenly and so powerfully it nearly knocked her to the floor - and she felt more than understood that she was crying, that she was gasping for breath between overwhelming sobs. She looked up at Alan and saw confusion, yet she also felt him reaching for her, not rejecting her, and she clung to that, held on to that simple truth.

Alan had felt the gathering explosion long before it surfaced; it was like a volcano that rumbled slowly to life and reached it's climactic moments only after tremors and flows had seeped to the surface. He had felt her reach out to control him, and he had responded to her - she was a force of nature who could not, he felt, be denied - but something hadn't felt true. It felt like rote behavior, rehearsed - an act - and he had felt almost silly, like a kid playing spin-the-bottle behind the garage after school. It was an act, he realized, we each played a role in her little drama. But it's not real, he said to himself.

'Maybe I wanted that dream,' he thought as he held her, waiting for calm to return. But he knew as he felt her shaking in his arms that something life-altering was happening to him, and, perhaps, to her as well. He knew he wanted to hold this woman in his arms for the rest of his life, wanted to protect her in ways he had never felt with his first wife. Everything he felt was new - and ancient. He was responding to her in the here and now - yet he felt as if he was responding to forces that had been released in another time - another universe - and these spaces were in collision. This woman was the keystone, he thought, to all that was his life. Without her, he couldn't stand, time couldn't stand. Without him, she would collapse before his eyes. They would perish.

She pulled back from him, some force or realization compelled her now, and he watched her as she took off her blazer. She handed it to him, then slowly unbuttoned her blouse, and this too she handed him. She reached behind with both hands and unfastened her brassiere, and he watched it fall away to the floor. She reached out and took his left hand and brought it to her right breast; he watched her lower lip trembling, saw her eyes grow dewy with a sorrow that possessed her completely. His hand fell to the skin of her breast and she laid his hand there with both of hers, forcing his hand into the yielding softness.

It was obvious. He felt it immediately. Like a spongy-hard golf ball - the mass was instantly recognizable as out-of-place and full of malevolent purpose. He felt himself looking at the breast, then up at her face; she was crying quietly now, her eyes closed, her soul bared, and it looked to him as if she was ashamed of her body, that it had failed her - and him - in some crucial way.

She was waiting for him.

Waiting for the polite goodbyes.

But she felt him bending to her breast, and he kissed her there. Gently. And again.

'I'm so scared,' she thought. She felt him there, felt his lips caressing her with such knowing tenderness. Quiet waves of fear washed over her, building, threatening to consume her if she stood in this silence - alone - too long.

"I'm so scared!" she cried out loudly, losing herself in the undulating terrain of remorse and fear that dominated this new landscape. She was holding onto him with relentless tension pressing in from every direction; this new - and unfamiliar - feeling was infantile in it's capacity to invoke an infinite regression toward longing for a father's pure love. Life, death, an endless circle of life and death; that's what she felt - she longed to love her father as she never had, simply, purely, innocently - and here was this man, so simple, so pure, so innocent. Emotions cascaded down on this new landscape, and through the thundering mists of her tears she felt him attached to her body as if it was her soul.

This man so simple, pure, and innocent. This circle of life.

She held his head with furious possessiven

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