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Her by Lisa Ron - Chapter 1


I dreamt of her again last night.   Yet, while the dream was as vivid as always, I was left with only the idea of her. No image.

In the dream, she stood before me, her face in shadows, obscured from my view. Her hands reached out to me, beckoning me forward. Seeming to float, I moved toward her. Her long slender fingers gently grabbed my wrists, pulling me forward.

Happily, I submitted to her embrace, feeling her naked breasts press against mine, her skin silkily brushing against me, intoxicating me with sensation. Still, I couldn’t see her face, the one part of her I really wanted to see. Frustrated, I tried to cup her face with my hands and force it into the light.

Laughing lightly, she resisted, pulling away completely, turning from me. Watching the muscles in her naked back flow as she walked away, I felt entranced. Sexual desire and lust coursed through me, my blood warming and traveling as my need grew.

My head felt light as I again went to her, this time to a bed that suddenly appeared in the room. With a sure touch, she pushed me down onto that bed, not that I fought her any way. I was dying to see her, dying to see the face on this woman who had tormented my dreams too often, but I was also hungry for her touch.

With confidence born of shared love, she began to stroke my body, her caresses fanning the flame within me. I know I must have been moaning, but I couldn’t hear anything but the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.

For the thousandth time I let myself sink into her love making, not knowing who she was or where she was. All I knew was that I would spend the rest of my life searching for her.


Chapter One

I could see the pain she was feeling. Brilliant blue eyes became hazy as tears formed and fell. I wanted so badly to reach out to her and comfort her.

Unfortunately, she was sitting two tables away and with a man who, though I could only see his back, seemed possessive. He was the cause of her tears.

Staring at her had become an afternoon obsession for me. I’d never seen her before and I’d never see her again, but for some reason she’d caught my eye, making me forget my afternoon appointments and any sanity I might have still claimed.

I’ll be the first to admit that women catch my eye all the time, turning my head so often that I am in a state of permanent whiplash. I like to look, to study their faces, and wonder if I could read their personality through a wrinkle here, an arched brow there. Faces told tales that bodies and minds could not. At least that’s what I had always believed. My friend Megan once told me that if I looked at women’s bodies the way I did their faces, I stood a chance at being what she called a lazy-eyed lesbian. You know the kind that will be sweet-talking one woman and then casually be checking out all the women around them. Yes, I looked, but I wasn’t looking for sex or a cheap thrill, I was just looking for her.

I know that one day I will see her and I will know that by looking at her face that she’s the one I’ve been waiting for. Her face will tell me that she’s supposed to be mine. That we’re supposed to come together to form one being.

I thought I’d found her many times. I’d see a woman across the room, or walking down the street, and I’d find her face fascinating. I would follow her until I worked up the courage to say something witty, usually something to make her laugh.

Needless to say, I’d heard many different kinds of laughter in my thirty-five years. But none of them had been her.

So, I made the decision to stop the heartbreak and live a celibate life of work and friends, keeping sex out of my life for good. Don’t get me wrong, I like sex but I could go without. The act of making love without her was simply an act. Nothing satisfied me in the way that I knew she would. Sitting back, out of the lesbian rat race, I thought I’d give her a chance to come to me. I’d stop looking for her in everything I did. I’d just live. But I was still preparing my life for her. Saving things that I’d one day want to show her, creating scrapbooks of my life before her.

I know, crazy right? Well, I think so. It’s so crazy that sometimes I annoy myself with my obsession with her. I don’t know what she’ll look like, her age, her hair color, or anything else that would be helpful to finding her. All I know is that she’ll complete me and that I’ll want to spend forever with her.

I’d done well with not looking for her.

Until today that is.

This woman across the restaurant was too intriguing. Too tempting to ignore. Her face told me a thousand things. Her eyes were expressive, her mouth full and tempting. I could feel my body heat rise as I tried to watch her discreetly. I had a clear line of vision. People passed between us, but overall, I could unobtrusively see her and the back of her lunch companion.

Now, while she looked to be an angel, he was definitely fitting into the asshole category. I was having serious problems with him. Generally, I’m not the man-hating-penis-destroying kind of lesbian. I don’t have a problem with them if they don’t have a problem with me. In fact, I cohabitate with one right now, which was as much of a PC statement as it was a money-saving deal. But this man that was with her was just too much. Cocky didn’t cover the amount of stuck-up, self-indulgent pride coming from this man. At least that was what I got from behind him. His posture and poise indicated all of this, as did the reaction he was causing her to have.

He seemed to be one of the I’m-bigger-than-this-life type of shmuck who went through life on the backs of millions of peons before him. I hated him on sight. The fact that he was causing the woman I was watching to frown often by saying things that caused tears to fill her eyes didn’t help his case. I began to envision numerous Lorena Bobbitt type crimes, making a note to find out what kind of punishment Lorena ended up with before I made any rash moves. But that train of thought didn’t last long as I gazed at her.

She wasn’t right for him. As I studied her face, trying to appear as though something was fascinating on the wall behind her, I could see her misery. It wasn’t the kind of misery that grew from a single event, but the kind that had festered during their years together, forming a mountain of misery within her. Something in me longed to move that mountain for her and to show her that she didn’t have to be miserable. Something akin to an ache inside of me longed to show her happiness and life.

Once again, my mind betrayed me. I wondered if it could be her that I was looking at. If she were the one that I had been searching for. Doubt filled me as I recalled the women before this moment, those that I thought had been the ones, who had only hurt and disappointed me. How could I know anymore? How could I trust myself? How could I trust my heart not to lead me once again into the arms of the wrong woman?

Even as I sat there and debated this with myself, I felt a longing to go and speak to the woman. Odd how our brain sometimes takes two paths, each path contradictory to the other. But, that’s neither here nor there I guess.

“If you think that I’ll live like that, you have another thing coming!” She stood up, her hands clenched into fists, her eyes flashing with anger.

“I am not your whore!”

This was getting interesting. Very interesting indeed. I watched as she stormed off in the direction of the women’s bathroom. And now my dilemma increased. I could go after her and make myself useful. I envisioned walking in and finding her in tears, taking her into my arms and murmuring soft words of comfort into her ear.

Or, I could sit here as I have been for the past hour and a half and wait for the drama to unfold. But, I had to get up from the table and I had to make the trek to the bathroom. What if it was her? What if this was my only chance? If I missed it, would I get another one?

Putting both hands on the table, I pushed myself up and moved the chair back from the table at the same time. The loud screeching of the chair sliding across the floor seemed exceptionally loud to me, but no one else seemed to notice. Breathing deeply, I flexed mentally, trying to create a clear picture in my mind.

One foot in front of the other, I told myself as I walked to the bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. One more deep breath and I pushed open the door to the women’s room.

She wasn’t in there. I checked the three stalls, each one of them empty. Turning, I looked into the mirror and saw my reflection staring back at me, the room behind me completely empty.

I had lost her.

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