the Hat...a true story of unfulfilled love

[sweet melissa]

Her name was Mallory and the first time I laid my eyes on her, she was having a smoke and leaning gracefully against the wrought iron fence surrounding the factory that laid just off the main street of Pererborough. My mum was unwell and I'd just graduated university and before starting graduate school came home to do my share of caretaking, hoping, praying, but knowing in my heart that she'd be gone before summer's end.
Mallory stood there every weekday after work waiting for the bus that would take her and so many of her factory workmates home from her hard day's grind. Her tall thin frame was in contrast to the other women with whom she worked, and a whisp of red hair fell from beneathe her hat, seductively covering one of her piercing green eyes as she pushed it back on her head to wipe a greasy spot from her brow. Her sensible work clothes, although loose fitting and tattered, couldn't disguise the curves hidden beneath them, and I melted at the mere thought of what those curves would feel like if I were to be able to touch her bare flesh. Her complexion, except for a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, was pinkish, pale and smooth like an air brushed magazine cover girl.
I had no real reason to go by her, I'd stopped off at the shop across the road for take away fish and chips that my dad had ordered and asked me to pick up, and noticed her as I came out. Intending to go home straight away and thinking she was a boy, I, instead, crossed over to her side for a better look. I couldn't help but stare as I passed, and my stare was met with a wry smile that came from a pair of lips of the brightest red I'd ever seen, backed by a mouthful of slightly crooked teeth with a space between the front two. She was older than me but I knew not by how many years. I only knew that if age were experience, she'd led a full life.
The following day was a Saturday and I spent it and the following day being tortured by the memory of Mallory leaning alluringly against that fence. On Monday I suggested that we, once again, have take away fish and chips or, at the least, Chinese food from next door to the fish and chip shop. Dad, not wanting to have to clean and cook any more than necessary agreed and suggested that I take my younger sister Catherine along as the walk and getting out of the house would be good for her. Insulted my my decline, she walked away in tears as I quietly slipped out of the house and started my journey straight away, hoping to once again lay eyes on Mallory's beauty. As luck would have it she was there, as she had been on Friday, leaning against the fence in the exact spot she'd been in when I first saw her, and as I passed and smiled, she exhaled a plume of blue smoke that lingered around her head momentarily before being carried off by the warm breeze, and retuned my smile with the same one she'd given me the Friday before. She was wearing the same clothes and her hair fell across her eye and down her cheek also as it had done before.
This going for meals went on about twice or three times a week for about two weeks, and when we didn't order take away, I'd walk to the news agent next door and find something to take home and read. It got to a point that now as I came by so often and obvious, other girls waiting close by would make comments to her such as "Hey Mallory, here she comes again, I think she fancies you." One day as I passed and smiled, she returned my smile with a nod and 'ello, asking me "what's for supper today then?" "Umm, pizza" I replied. "Are you sure, took a minute to remember didn't it?" "Y,y,yes I'm sure" I replied, positive I'd wet myself if she were to talk any longer, her eyes looking through me as she spoke with an East End Cockney accent, something seldom heard in Peterborough. "Have at it then, and enjoy your meal" she replied, giving me another of those smiles as I walked away, weak in the knees, wet in the knickers and sure I'd just made the biggest ass of myself ever.
By month's end, she and I extended pleasentries each time I came round and spoke further, our conversations becoming more familiar in tone and substance until one day, to my surprise, she asked me to a small pub just around the corner. I told her I'd like to accept but wouldn't she miss her bus if she were to linger any longer? She then told me that although it was a long one, she'd walk home later, she really didn't mind as she'd been doing that on and off since I'd been coming round. She liked our talks and on the occasions when we did, she'd wait until I left, then, having missed her bus, she'd walk instead of ride. She said she'd been waiting for me nearly every day since out first encounter and missed me on the days I didn't show. So to the pub we went. After a couple of pints, I decided it was time to return home but before I could take leave, she took my hands in hers from across the table, kissed them gently and asked me if I'd meet her again on Friday. I didn't know what to think. Was this just a new friendship forming? Did she have a physical attraction to me? I had no idea, and would soon find out, but it would be the longest four days of my life. In the meantime I was fantasizing about her constantly. In my mind we'd made love in every conceivable location and and in every conceivable orifice and position.
When Friday finally arrived, after a sleepless night, I hung around the house all day pissing about aimlessly, an expressiom of anticipation so obvious on my face that my whole family could tell something was amiss, but whenever they questioned me I'd get all defensive and tell them to fuck off. Late afternoon finally rolled around and I was off like a shot, liteally running to downtown to my anticipated rendezous with Mallory. Upon meeting her, we waited the ten minutes for the bus making small talk, got on and went straight away to a more seedy part of town where her second story, sparsely furnished and dingy flat waited on a street full of rundown multi family houses.
Things went slowly at first, neither of us wanting to make the first move. As I sat at her table drinking tea, listening to boys playing street cricket below us and mothers calling their kids for dinner from open windows, she took a seat next to me rather than across the table, and took my hands as she had in the pub. We talked for a while, hand in hand and as she put out her smoke, took our cups and started to get up, I stopped her by refusing to let go of her hand. Then I got up, took her into my arms and kissed her. We stood there for what seemed like hours, kissing, probing each other's mouths with our tongues and holding each other. At the first inclination that she was about to touch me, I jerked, stumbling backward and against the sink, and as I did, she pressed against me for the first time, grinding her breasts into me, rubbing them against mine and making me moan and return the pleasure by doing the same to her. Before long we were feeling each other up and pushing our hands under each otheres shirts, me unbottoning her sweaty shirt and removing her bra slowly giving freedom to her breasts that had been straining against it. She ran her hand up under my damp t-shirt, made aware by my swollen nipples that I was wearing nothing underneath it. Wanting to prolong this feeling for as long as possible, I resisted her invitation to retire to her bedroom. All I could think of was that if I went in there with her, things would progress too quickly and we'd be done too soon.
How wrong I was. As long as I had lasted in the past with either boys or girls, I was in no way prepared for the marathon fuck session that was about to begin. We kissed licked, sucked and fucked for what seemed like forever, doing everything imagiable and some things previously unimaginable to each other. She was an expert, playing my clit and pussy like a concert pianist ticking the keys just right to get the most perfect sound from them. Everything she did to me I copied exactly on her and for everything I did to her she recipricated perfectly. We even made a game of it, touching or kissing in a certain way or on a certain body part and the next one repeating it on the other and then trying to improve upon that. She was totally unabashed in what she did, how she did it and how she communicated and expressed herself physically and verbally. She was the first woman I was ever with who said things like "shove another finger in my cunt" or "nibble my fucking clit." lick my asshole." things of that nature which although I thought of during my lovemaking, never expressed them in quite that manner.
Every thought I'd had about how she looked under those servicable and sensible work clothes was correct. Her skin, pale in the daylight, now seemed almost translucent it the light of her room. The spackling of freckles extended all the way across her ample boobs, down her belly, finally losing themselves in her soft downy patch of dark red pubic hair, the same colour hair which also grew soft and sparse under her ushaven arms. Her eyes that previously burned into my very soul, now had a faraway look instead, making me uneasy for some reason.
After our lovemaking ended and we were lying on her bed, I asked about her, her life, work ETC, getting little response. Hoping that if I talked a little about myself I could get her to open up, I mentioned why I'd come home for summer holiday, where I lived and other various subjects only to be met with more of that faraway look and an almost deafening silence.
As I dozed, spent from all the lovemaking and strenght draining orgasms of the past few hours, I felt her warm hands again upon my back, this time sliding down between my ass cheeks. Then, for the fist time in my life, I had proper anal sex. After feeling her hands on my ass, I rolled over and started kissing her again. We went from there to more petting. This time we used much more penetration than before. Until then, as much as I liked a nice stiff cock or an occasional finger by a woman in my cunt, I'd mostly prefered oral sex with women. With Mallory it was different. I'm not sure if it was her technique or the unbridled passion with which she went ahead and took charge, but within minutes I became more than receptive to anything she wanted to do, and fucking me with her fingers, and at times all four at once, was more satisfyingly than I'd ever been fucked, or should I say made love to, before by another woman. Soon she had me totally in her control and within another few minutes her hands were wraped around my ass cheeks and she had a small delicate finger inside me, stroking in and out of my ass gently as she carressed my buttocks with the other hand. I still have no idea how she started. She used no lube nor was I particularly receptive to what she was doing at the time, and she needed none as I finally opened up and readily accepted another of her probing fingers. My God, I couldn't believe the pleasure! Two fingers in my ass, in and out, exciting me even more than before and making my cunt drip with wetness and anticipation of having itself filled with even more of those talented fingers. On and on we went with me once again returning each stroke and touch with one of equal pleasure giving intensity. I moaned, cried and begged for more. More fingers more and faster. When I felt I couldn't take any more, in one sweeping motion she laid on her back, had me straddle her with my cunt over her face and my face burried in the soft down of her musky pubic patch, her fingers somehow managing to stay in the warmth of my asshole. Closer and closer we both came to the extasy we knew was inevitable, and finally, with more pleasure and force than I'd ever experienced we came, totally in sync with each other in screaming simultanious orgasms. Neither of us were able to move or speak for some time, but the smiles we shared told all there was to tell. At that moment I never felt more alive, never more vibrant, never more womanly. And as she looked at me again with that far away stare, through the dim light cast through the window by the moon, for one fleeting moment I thought I saw a tear in her eyes.
I left just before midnight that night, never bothering to try getting her number, should I decide to ring her up at some point. It didn't matter though because as I left, I found she had no phone and I knew that I'd see her again at the beginning of the week leaning against the fence.
On Monday afternoon, sure enough, I saw her as anticipated and walked over to strike up what had become our usual conversation, but she was reluctant to chat. Upon pressing the issue, she turned away, and as she did, for one fleeting moment I thought, once again that I saw a tear in her eye as I had the night of our lovemaking. Before I knew what was happening, she started running straight away for the bus and before I could catch up, she was down the street and out of sight. I ran to her flat hoping for an explenation but she never came round. I inquired about her with people coming out of the factory and at the neighborhood shops but no one knew much about her or were willing to talk further.
About three weeks later, my mum passed away, the cancer that had been ravaging her body for the past year finally having its way and claiming her. Another victim to a dreaded and painful desease. At the graveside, as condolances were being passed about, I noticed someone tall and lean, ciggy in hand, leaning gracefully against the fence at the cemetery's entrance in her tattered clothes watching what remained of the proceedings. Realizing who it was, or who I may have imagined it was, I ran to the fence, and as I did, she ran off, got into a waiting taxi and sped down the road, never to be seen by my hopeful eyes again......
I still have the tattered hat she dropped as she fled for the cab.

That was 15 years ago and I still think of her every so often. Where is she now, I wonder. How old is she? I never really knew. Did she ever marry, does she have children? Perhaps she's dead, along with any memories she had of our too brief time together. Would she even remember me or the events that took place in her dingy old flat, that love struck college age girl from the better side of town? And if she does, do those memories hold the same meaning for her as they do for me? I'd like to think they do, but I must face reality as well.
In my memory she still stands leaning against that fence; tall and gracious, crooked teeth behind those crimson lips, whisps of red hair falling seductively across her eye and cheek. The hat remains with me still, and when the world closes in too tightly, or my problems seem too much to bear, I take that tattered old hat and hold it tightly, bring it to my face and inhale whatever may be left of her musky fragrance, imagining we're still in that bedroom making love like tomorrow may never come.

Melissa

[momo]

Wow Melissa... very touching, intense, and arousing story. I'm sad it ended as it did, but I'm sure she remembers you, wherever she is.

[sweet melissa]

Wow Melissa... very touching, intense, and arousing story. I'm sad it ended as it did, but I'm sure she remembers you, wherever she is.

One can only hope. I don't dwell upon it, nor do I wish to ever take up with her again. I do still think of her, however. Most likely because it's sort of "unfinished business" and as is the latest catch phrase..I need closure.