It’d been nine months since my mental meltdown and rescue by Gracie. I’d been at my parents’ home recovering and going to therapy in an effort to get my head straightened out. Darrin never came by or called once to check up on me, not even a Get Well Soon card. Maybe he felt too embarrassed or guilty at how he’d treated me or was I just another casualty of ruthless corporate politics? In spite of that, I missed him and “The General” like hell, and in a sick way, still loved him. I guess that just shows you how fucked up my thought processes were. I’d quit my job after my medical leave ran out, so here I was back in my childhood room with the same stupid posters and idiot things young girls put on their walls being taken care of by my folks. It was like going back to the future of my adolescence. I felt so helpless and useless. What a rousing success I was. That was hard for me because I wanted to be an independent woman – self-assured, decisive, bold, and making her own way.Yes, I had screwed up royally and nearly killed myself in the process. What a mistake that was. I’d had another epiphany – no one is worth killing yourself over even if it seems that your world is disintegrating. Life is too precious to throw it away. I’d realized that immediately after I’d seen the look on Gracie’s face. She had so much concern, compassion and true love for me, not the physical kind, but genuine love in her heart for a fellow human being who was suffering. Words can’t express the gratitude I felt to her for saving me from myself. Oh, how I missed her and even her scoldings. It is said that there are two kinds of “Grace,” ordinary and extraordinary. Extraordinary grace is exceptional and comes with drama and precisely when needed, seemingly, given to those who need a miraculous rescue. That is what Gracie had done for me. Ordinary grace, on the other hand, is mundane and may be too simple to notice because it falls on both the worthy and unworthy alike. I had begun to notice and appreciate ordinary grace as well. In spite of my initial melancholy, these ordinary graces occurred: the sun came up every day; the stars and the moon shown at night; the flowers bloomed; babies were born; life went on. Every day was a beautiful day to be alive if I just looked around and outside of myself. Every day, I tried hard to find something to be thankful for, even if it was spiders. The traditional hymn, “Morning Has Broken”, had become my theme song. I especially loved the last verse. To me it says, God provides the life-giving sunshine; the fresh morning with the same sun that shone on Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and one should praise with enthusiasm every new day.I’d realized that every day was a new beginning, another chance to start over. I was created in God’s image, so how could I hate myself without hating God. God doesn’t make junk, and by extension, I’m not junk. We need people who love us as we are, in spite of our freckles, faults, scars and warts with that unconditional love you hear about and dogs seem to have in abundance. It’s a love that doesn’t want anything from you, but accepts you as-is just like God made you and doesn’t consider you as someone or something that needs to be fixed or changed. My biggest mistake was trying to be Darrin’s everything and essentially losing myself in the process. He didn’t love me because I didn’t love myself either. Darrin would always be there in my consciousness. I couldn’t erase that, but I could learn from my experience. Isn’t that what life is all about? Learning from your missteps and mistakes as long as they don’t kill you in the process. Although, it would certainly be easier if we learned from someone else’s mistakes, but we have too much hubris to believe that we’re that stupid. Grace had tried to warn me. My life now had so much less complexity, but my depth of understanding had grown exponentially. I could actually feel myself getting better.Starting to venture out of the house, I began frequenting the local beanery for a cup of coffee. The smell of freshly brewed coffee was cathartic and stimulated Ankara escort one of my senses again. At first, my excursions were few, but as I heeled and grew mentally stronger, they became a daily ritual. I even began to converse with the barista and a couple of the other regulars. Gaining my self-confidence back, I felt a part of the human race again.I began to miss the touch of a man or a woman for that matter. The feeling of being held in their arms and that sense of tenderness, safety and security that came with it. That feeling that someone wanted you, even if it was only for a few hours. I still had “The Replica” in my closet in a boot box on the upper shelf hidden behind a blanket, and it provided me with that kind of release. However, every time I used it, I was reminded of Darrin and what we had. My therapist said that wasn’t good for me, contrary to what my lady parts said. I don’t know if I could bring myself to throw it away, but she was probably right. She, not me, had the Ph.D. Even with my near-death experience, my conversion to Cock and Cunt worshipper had not diminished my need or desire for that sacrament. The feeling of two bodies embracing in the throes of sexual ecstasy together that culminates with that soul-cleansing release of endorphins like a physical communion and resurrection. It’s like in those few minutes; the only world that exists is between my legs, in my mouth and in my imagination. I am the center of the universe. I missed that feeling most of all.*****My folks’ home is a two-story Georgian style with four bedrooms. My bedroom is on the second floor, which, unfortunately, is adjacent to our neighbor’s master bedroom. These developers like to cram houses so close together that you can spit out your window and into your neighbor’s. The first few months, I never left my room except for meals, therapy, and church. Every Sunday, our Pastor’s sermons always seemed to be about me. At least, that’s how I felt as I squirmed in the pew. It’s like she’d seen my soul and was talking only to me. She stated several times that, in order to fully receive God’s ‘Grace’, we had to first forgive ourselves. Why is that so hard? I think it’s the aversion of seemingly getting something for nothing and the belief that if it sounds too good to be true, there’s got to be a catch somewhere. Feeling so unworthy, but truly, I thought that I’d tried to forgive myself. Maybe I was just delusional. Less naïve now, I had become cynical about people in general. Darrin had definitely tainted my perspective on the human race and men in particular. I struggled with my self-worth and God’s plan for me. At night, I’d sit in my darkened room and listen to my mind hash and re-hash every detail of my life with Darrin, trying to understand where I went wrong. It wasn’t a good time for me, and I wasn’t in a good place either. During that time, I’d noticed that our neighbor’s wife, Ashley, would get undressed every night about 9 PM and read until her husband, Bill, would come to bed around 11 PM. Some nights she wore a long flannel nightgown, but others, she’d be in a mini-teddy nightie. I wondered if her and Bill fucked those nights. My Dad is a hunter to the Nth degree. He’s got all the stuff you need to hunt anything – deer, elk, mountain lion, whatever. He keeps his weapons locked in a gun safe with the only key to it on a chain around his neck. I guess he didn’t want me to do anything crazy if I lost my mind again.He enjoys tracking animals just to see if he can find them, especially during bow-hunting season. Some weekends, he’ll just take his camera and shoot them with that. At least, he tries to give them a fighting chance. One of the special devices he has is night vision goggles. Bow hunting season had just finished. I knew Dad wouldn’t be using those goggles for a few months, so I sneaked them up to my room while he and mom were out shopping. Not sure why I wanted to watch our neighbors or what I would do if I saw them having sex. Maybe I wanted to see someone making love, not just fucking, to see if it Ankara escort bayan was different from what Darrin and I’d been doing, to see their love for each other, and if it was expressed in another fashion, besides multiple positions and a cock in every orifice. It was Friday night, and I’d seen Ashley’s mom stop by and pick up the kids. They were alone in the house. If they were ever going to fuck, it would be tonight. I thought about going outside to watch them through their dining room window, just in case, they got going early, but I didn’t want to get caught. That’s all I’d need – to get arrested for being a “Peeping Jane”. I’d be in court-mandated therapy forever. They both came up to their bedroom about 9 PM. They were laughing and had their arms around each other’s waist. I remembered what that felt like. They didn’t even close the door. They remembered they were totally alone. Leaving one nightstand light on, Bill put a movie in the DVD player. They snuggled up on the bed to watch. It didn’t take long for me to see that they were watching porn. After about five minutes, Ashley’s hand began rubbing Bill’s leg, maybe his cock. He leaned over and kissed her neck. She closed her eyes and leaned her head to the side to encourage further exploration. Bill slurped, nibbled and kissed her neck like it was an “All Day Sucker”. I could tell Ashley was loving it, and so was I. Bill turned off the movie and Ashley turned off the light. I put on the goggles. My eyes quickly adjusted to the green hue, so I don’t think I missed anything. Bill began unbuttoning her blouse and was kissing his way to her left boob while his left hand massaged her right breast. He pulled her bra down as his lips attached to her nipple.Stripping my clothes off, I wanted to transport myself into their bedroom and imagine Bill, a man, any man, doing that to me. I was hotter than I been in months. As Bill suckled Ashley’s breast, I watched her fingers gently stroke Bill’s manhood. He leaped from his position and stripped his remaining clothes off then returned to breast heaven. His cock was erect and ready for some of Ashley’s teasing, which she gladly supplied.This was wonderful – watching two people who knew each other’s hot spots; how to activate them and make it last. It was a touch here, a caress there, a kiss, a lick and so on. It was like watching a choreographed ballet or maybe one of those fake wrestling matches, where every hold has been rehearsed many times over and the outcome is known to both participants except both would be winners in this match. My fingers pinched my nipple while the other hand found my little bean. I wanted to close my eyes, but every time I did, Darrin would be there. Needing someone else to launch me to the heights, I had to keep watching. It took them forty minutes before they began cuddling. I’d cum four times already. I licked each orgasm from my fingers. Masturbating through several more orgasms, I watched them sleep. That was the most alive I’d felt in months.*****About ten years ago, we had moved from New Braunfels to Duluth, a big town for Minnesota. There are seedy places you can go to see porn movies and interact with like-minded people. Frankly, I was getting tired of “The Replica” because I had to provide all the mental stimulation to make it work for me. I longed to feel a cock’s heat as it rested on the palm of my hand; to feel its power as it twitched and blasted a stream of cum four feet across the room; to hear a man’s anguish as he came with my touch.So, I began my search for the right place. It took two weeks, but I found a bookstore that was in a safe neighborhood where your shoes didn’t stick to the floor when you went in the back. It was time. It was a Tuesday around lunch. Every eye turned to look at me when I entered. There were four men there not counting the counter person. Looking at several magazines, mostly lesbian ones, my intent was to throw the guys off from my real desire. Once they saw what I was looking at, they went back to their magazines. I got change for Escort Ankara ten dollars and headed to the back room. It was darker than inside a black cat, but I found a booth and closed the door. Starting the movie, I really didn’t care what the movie was. What interested me was what would be slipped through the two holes on either side of the enclosure. From the light radiating through the door crack on my left, I knew someone would soon present themselves for pleasure. I lowered the little door. About thirty seconds later, a seven-inch cock slipped through the hole. I lightly took hold of it. It was warm and throbbed in my hand as I felt it pulse for me. Pulling his foreskin back, I used my free hand to make circles around his head. He moaned with affirmation. I spit in my hand and used my wet fingers to caress his manhood flare. The hole was big enough that I could cradle his nuts and roll them between my fingers while stroking him ever closer to the ultimate. He was getting close, so close. I felt his nuts begin to pulse and then I stopped. One drop of cum dripped from his angry cock. I heard him say, “Come on, finish me. Don’t leave me like this. Fuck, you ruined it. What an asshole.” Having no remorse for his situation, I had enjoyed the warmth of his cock and its power right up to the moment I stopped. I had taken its power. He got what he deserved – nothing, but blue balls. With his emotions in my hand, I closed the door. That was an extreme satisfaction I hadn’t felt before. Opening the door on my right, another cock appeared. Stroking it until it was a stony stick, I slipped my mouth over it. Yes, feeling it in my mouth triggered my senses – touch, smell and taste. My tongue worked its magic on him. Enjoying the sensation of it in my mouth, I could tell it wouldn’t be long. Starting to thrust into my mouth, a driblet of pre-cum activated my tastebuds. Once again, I stopped. This cock dribbled a couple of measly drops of cum into my cubical.Closing the door, I heard him say, “You motherfucker, what kind of sick bitch are you?” I had taken his power, too. Waiting about twenty minutes until I knew they both had left; my actions had empowered me. I had taken these men right to the edge of ecstasy and then crashed their desires. Like they say, “You can’t always get what you want.” Before I left the bookstore, I bought an eight-inch skin-like dildo. I think this will be my new boyfriend. My bookstore visits became a regular weekly thing. In some perverted way of thinking, I was getting back at Darrin by making every other man suffer for him. Logically that doesn’t make sense, but it made me feel better.*****Like most regular parishioners, we have “our” pew. It’s not really ours, but we always sit there unless some visitors plop their butts in it. I noticed a guy about my age sitting in one of the side pews. He was kind of handsome, but not in the rugged sense like Darrin. Our eyes met, and he subtly smiled at me. I asked Mom, “Who’s that guy over there?” “That’s Kevin Anderson (a good Swedish name). His mother said that he moved back here after accepting an engineering job at 3M. Why do you ask? Are you interested in him?” “No, for god’s sake, I was just wondering. I’ve seen him sitting there the last couple of Sundays and was just wondering who he was.” “If you want, I can introduce you.” “No, no, that’s not why I was asking. Just curious that’s all,” I snapped. I wasn’t ready for another man in that way. Mom is always looking to set me up.*****Over the next month, I always noticed if he was in church. It became one of the things I surveyed unconsciously upon our arrival. Apparently, he had homesteaded that pew spot. I assumed it was because he was a creature of habit like me. Fall was creeping in like a cat burglar during the night. The leaves were getting a little pale in anticipation; the squirrels were harvesting pine cones like crazy, scurrying from one tree to the next; the hummingbirds had left for Mexico; the shadows were lengthening as the days got shorter. My mental psyche’s scars had scabbed over and like the weather were enceinte for a change. That Sunday, we stayed for an after-service potluck. I talked with several of my parents’ friends. Returning to the buffet to pick up one of the homemade oatmeal raisin cookies, Kevin and I both reached for the last one. I pulled my hand back like it was a bear trap.