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*Note – this is a chapter in the Fiona Files. These stores can be considered semi-autobiographical fiction, or just fiction. In these stories I will talk about Johnny and Fiona. Johnny is always the same person, mostly me. The Fiona Files is Johnny’s journey. The character of Fiona is a mash of women, real and imagined. Enjoy. Please let me know if you have enjoyed my stories.
NewRyder
The Fiona Files III – My Good Ghost
PART I
Outside the window was the city of San Francisco. The rooftops of the wood frame buildings receded into the early morning light. Her name was Fiona. I tended bar in the Marina district. With her I always felt young. She said I was quiet but I just didn’t know what to say and besides, being quiet around Fiona was okay. I liked to look and listen to her and try to figure out what made her attractive because she was not beautiful. Fiona was short, she was around five-four and strong with an ample firm ass. She had small breasts and wore heavy glasses. She had a smile and directness that was out of place in the city, she would talk and tell me about herself, her life in the city, laugh at her own little jokes and not mind that I just listened. I guess I was good company, didn’t try to impress her or tell lies about myself. In the shower I would wash her back, neck and ass, working cloth between her legs until she became shaky. With her glasses off and water running down her face she was nearly sightless and looked vulnerable. She allowed me to share her private moments and asked nothing of me.
I looked to the right, out the arched window in the gable of the house and out into the city. Fiona had disappeared; heat and light filled my loins, hot shifting light, burning madness and laughter. I arched and shifted; I shifted and grabbed the cool pipes of the bed. Fio was under the covers giving me head, that much I knew, the rest was just light, white hot light melting the head of my cock, baking the shaft, her mouth was wet, hot and alive. Fiona worked my cock until I came inside her, she held me in her mouth until my spasms stopped. I listened to her breathing through her nose and pushed my fingers through her hair. When she raised herself she wore a clever smile and kissed me full, the taste of cock and semen strong in her mouth.
I held her against eskort bakırköy me then, her ass against my burning erection, my shoulders eclipsing hers, I reached my hand to where she was wet, parted her coarse hair and dipped a finger into her hungry cunt. I kissed her neck, nibbled at her ear, buried my face in her hair. I made my breath hot and silent on her neck and worked the smooth wet places of her pussy. She moaned now and turned to kiss me but I didn’t let her. She tried to straighten now but I didn’t allow for that either. I held fast, and she was strong too. My finger stayed busy looking for a rhythm, trying to find a way to reach her. She squirmed trying to pull away but I was behind her, holding tighter, finding that rhythm now, bringing her closer. I took Fiona deeper into my arms and pressed my hand farther down scooping out her slick juices with my finger and rewetting her burning hood. She struggled once more to free herself then cried out as crashing orgasms overtook her. I eased my grip and kissed her softly as her ragged breath evened out and her heart slowed its’ pace. When she was done she hugged my arm, kissing it up and down.
PART II
You’ve got a friend in Pennsylvania. That’s all it takes. One car easing past me and I’m back in the memory of Fiona, born in Pennsylvania, moved to San Francisco.
I was man in hiding, stepping away from love I’d known and lives I’d led to be a man not known. I had my Nikon, I had a legal pad, a job, a bed and a phone.
Fiona had possessions. Fiona had made a home, she had a space, a world. Her room was up a narrow spiral stair and I’d have to keep my head down as I made the final turn. When my head came up I would be in her world. There was her dresser, crowded with small boxes and pictures, there was her desk with pocketed notes and loose change. A brass bed sat at angle under the long, low plaster ceiling, next to a rocking chair. When we lay in bed I was gone from the world of twenty dollar bills and car horns and into a feminine world beneath the shingles.
Fiona was a confident lover who took her own journeys. Love seemed to slide and float, never hitting awkward moments.
When we made love we moved with one another, she would move and I would go there, I would move and she would be eskort ataköy there waiting. It was all as easy as moving a kiss from a neck to an ear.
Fiona lay beneath me her legs hooked around my calves, she held me by the shoulders and pressed her forehead hard to mine. She pulled to match my efforts and held off her orgasm until she felt me start to die, then slammed her hips and forced me deep, my whole length swelling, then glowing like wand and finally blasting away inside her. We lay together now kissing for a while, laughing softly, our heads burned where she’d pressed them together. I eased my way out and she held me firmly for a moment with the muscles of her vagina and then let go. Kissing her long I moved down the curves of her body and slid beneath the bed covers. I kissed her hard nipples, licked her belly, put her strong ass in both my hands and filled my nostrils with the heady smell of our mingled juices. Her lips were swollen and hot, her cunt hair pushed back and sticky. I flew around flipping her clit back and forth, clasping her lips in mine and pulling. Fiona responded by tilting herself up to meet me and catching my hair in her fists. I spun her labia, pulled myself away, blew cool air on her burning pussy and then plunged my tongue deep inside her to retrieve my tangy steaming seed. I licked back heavy gobs of my hot cum and mashed her clit with my open mouth. I was everywhere inside her. Fiona silently bucked, her pelvis in a frenzy. Her already swollen vulva rose like bread, then she began to cum, I ate that too. Then we were quiet again, kissing, her talking and telling stories as the dusty sun advanced across the polished floor bringing with it car horns and twenties
PART III
Fiona sat close to me on a pillow, her legs folded under the low table. The owner dotted on us, telling stories about the hot, sweet food the waiters brought around. The North Beach restaurant was deserted except for the staff and us. I talked about myself, a thing I never did with Fiona. I was moving back to Vermont. I had nothing there really, but I had run my course in the city. She and I realized too late that we were in love. How stupid we had been. We had sought out experience, not love and had not the wisdom to see or know love when it was in our grasp. escort Why do people hurt each other when it is just as easy to heal? Why did I not ask her for her love when it was the one thing I needed? Why did she not ask me?
I recall her smile, never cheap and full of teeth, but full, warm and personal. She would hug my arm and coax me into a laugh – laugh, come on, you can’t help yourself, you see? In my memory the evening had a warmth that ran through our bodies and joined us. It was a warmth that drew in all available light and closed the night around us. We drifted closer to one another, sharing food, leaning near to hear secrets of the soul. Being with Fiona that night was like growing old together and reliving a memory. Can two people know when something important is happening? Can they sense the sorrow of love even before it’s lost? Can they ever pull back from the brink folly? We had hurt each other and I assure you that is boring story. We had been non-exclusive and it cost us. Fiona was leaving too, moving back to Pennsylvania. She wrote down her mothers number and to this day I regret losing it.
I bought the dinner. She knew I was being brave. I was nearly broke and dinner broke me but I never let on. I think Fiona knew and saw it as the gesture that it was.
We stood outside in the drifting fog. I leaned against the fender of her old Toyota and she leaned into me, her sweet face against my chest, thigh in my crotch. I can now close my eyes, tilt my head back and memories of her sweep in like high moving clouds. I see simple things, riding with her on her bus route with her dressed in a business suit. Together seeing Raging Bull on it’s opening run, her breakdown of the screenplay and loving her. I see Fiona above me, ass spread out on my legs, eyes closed, clever smile, tight pussy stretched wide, rising and falling. There we are on an early morning, sleeping face to face, waking to see her hand tucked between her legs, eyes squeezed shut, silently climaxing next me, nostrils flared and mouth open, breathless. I recall as if it were today her sitting on the bed edge, undressing her like a servant, button by button, shoe, sock, kissing, licking bare toes, taking them in my mouth, sleeve, bra, licking nipples, armpits, neck, the smell of hair, belt, button, zipper, caressing, loving.
We parted at the car. She drove off to nurse a head cold and I went to North Beach to hear Charlie Musclewhite play the blues.
Fiona haunts me, she is my good ghost, she comes and goes as she pleases but I can call up memory her whenever I feel lonely.
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