After what happened to me in 2022, I didn't think I would ever write again. It's at "Mila's" insistence that I've written this. She says it's therapeutic. She also says she'll read it. So here goes.
On the tenth of March, 2022, I was nearly killed in a traffic accident.
I was driving down the highway. It was a stretch that wound along the side of a hill, with a steep slope up on the left and an equally sharp drop on the right, both sides heavily forested with pine trees. The sky was covered in clouds so low and thick that it was nearly dark although by the clock it was only mid-afternoon. It had been raining heavily and was still drizzling, with water draining off the slope to the left washing across the road.
It was a Thursday and, I had had a tough week. I’d been organising a conference on behalf of my employer in another city. The conference had finished the previous night. I had spent the morning settling final bills and taking care of all the rest of the minutiae that accompanies this kind of undertaking, as anyone else who’s ever done it must know.
In any case, it was late morning when I finally managed to get in my car and set off home, through torrential rain. One stop for petrol and another for lunch later, I was driving down the mountain road, rotating my shoulders and neck to reduce the stress-ache that had gripped them. The traffic was light, and I began to hope I would be home in time for supper..
At that moment I felt a tremendous blow from behind, which flung me off my seat and into my seatbelt, and my car twisted sharply to the right. All I remember seeing is the road vanish from in front of me, reappear to my left, and then disappear altogether as my car swung even further round, tree branches whipping against my windscreen as I went off the road and down the steep slope.
I didn’t have the slightest idea what had happened. I didn’t even have time to be scared. I just remember a very calm voice in the back of my mind, saying ”That’s it, these are the last seconds of my life. I’m going to die now.”
I haven’t any recollection of the actual crash or much of what happened afterwards. I do remember hanging in my seat, the seatbelt digging into my chest, my face pressed against the air bag. I could see nothing, I could hardly breathe, and I couldn’t move or even feel my legs. I don’t recall pain except in my right upper forehead. There was something very wrong with my right shoulder, but I couldn’t tell what. The only thing I remember apart from that is a voice somewhere close by, saying, in a shocked tone, “She’s still alive. There’s so much blood...but I think she’s still alive.” I remember that voice very well.
Later I was told that I was conscious and lucid enough to repeatedly ask, while I was being removed from the wreck and then in the ambulance, whether I still had my legs. But not only do I have no memory of that, I don’t recall being taken out of the car or the ambulance at all.
The next real memory I have is of waking up in a hospital bed. My forehead was gashed to the bone, my right shoulder had been dislocated, and both my lower legs had compound fractures. I had also broken bones in both feet and had a long slash up my left forearm that had only just avoided laying open a major blood vessel.
What had happened? An overloaded lorry, driving down the wet decline, had lost control and swung round the bend far too quickly. It had smashed into my car from behind and sent it spinning off the road.
The driver was arrested, but I don’t know what happened to him afterwards. At this point it doesn’t matter anyway.
The only reason I was alive, I discovered, was my much mocked slow driving. Even with an open road before me I average fifty kilometres per hour and never exceed seventy. If I’d been going much faster I’d have been catapulted all the way downhill and they’d have had to scrape me up with a spoon.
So, I was told, I was “lucky”, only I did not feel lucky. I had rods in the bones of both my lower legs, stitches in my forehead and left forearm, and my right shoulder was in a pressure bandage. I was in a haze comprising equal parts painkillers and pain. I was in a hospital bed, subject to the indignities of bedpans and sponge baths, and at that time I was far from convinced that I would ever walk again.
I especially hated the bedpan, and kept apologising to the nurses for having to use it. They were quite cheerful about it, really, and kept telling me – something I was already heartily sick of – that I was so lucky to have survived. About the only exception was a tall and sultry looking young woman whom I’ll call Amanda, who used to give me my sponge baths. She never tried to be artificially cheery with me.
Though we never talked about it, I was convinced Amanda had some kind of empathy for my situation. When she bathed me, her hands would gently linger on my stitches and she always smoothed back my hair and tell me what she could see about the rate of healing from her experience. I wondered if she’d ever been in a bad accident herself, but wanting to talk about pain and bloodshed was the last thing I wanted to do.
Eventually I was released from hospital. My employer’s insurance paid the bills. Still in pain, with both lower legs and feet encased in blue acrylic casts, I was taken home. My mother had turned up to feed the goldfish and “take care of me”, and those who have read the previous episodes in my chronicles can tell how that went. She all but accused me of trying to get myself killed in exactly the same fashion my father had done, just to hurt her. Once the casts were off and I – albeit with the aid of two crutches – was able to make my way around the flat, I asked her to no longer keep her life on hold on my behalf.
My life, however, was well and truly on hold. I had changed jobs in mid 2021, and my new employer had allowed me to work from home, so I was not unemployed and didn’t have to live on my savings. That’s a joke, by the way, that word “savings”. However, the first time I was recovered enough to go out in the street, I was hit by a panic attack. I crumpled down in a shop doorway, literally struggling to breathe.
“Do you need help, love?” an elderly woman asked. I looked up at her, and I don’t know what I answered, but she helped me up along with her daughter and offered me a lift home. And then I discovered that I could not make myself get into her car. I absolutely couldn’t do it.
That night I had the first of the nightmares. I don’t recall the exact details, but it was of a pattern that has grown horribly familiar to me over the last couple of years. I am at the wheel of my car. Sometimes I’m lost, driving aimlessly along a dark road under a dark sky, conscious that something is behind me and gaining on me, but I can’t see what it is. Other times I’m driving down a nearly vertical slope, wrestling the steering wheel, knowing that whatever I do I can’t turn aside from whatever awaits me at the bottom. Sometimes it’s boulders, sometimes a deep pit, sometimes an expanse of water, or sometimes nothing at all. And on yet other occasions there’s something in the car with me, something I can’t see but which is out to kill me.
I came awake in a way that, too, has become familiar; curled into a foetal position, my arms wrapped as tightly around myself as possible, my fingernails digging into the flesh of my upper arms hard enough to draw blood. It was two in the morning. I couldn’t get to sleep again.
Since then these dreams have become so frequent that I have cut my fingernails to the quick and taken to sleeping in T shirts with sleeves long enough to protect my upper arms. The anti-anxiety medications I’ve been given haven’t helped much. Sometimes they keep me sleeping when I would normally escape from the dream by coming awake.
My car was almost new, and the insurance payment was enough for me to be able to afford to replace it, but I simply could not. Even the thought of sitting in a car again made my heart race and my lips grow numb.
Virtually self-confined to my flat, I lost every shred of confidence in myself. I felt utterly unattractive, without the slightest shred of self-worth. The only thing that kept me going at times was the memories of the past, the love affairs I’d had. At other times those same memories would be a cruel reminder of what I had no longer. And of course my libido had ceased to exist. When I tried to masturbate, I couldn’t even rouse a flicker of self-arousal, forget an orgasm.
No, 2022 was not the best year I have ever had.
Then one day – something over a year after the accident – my doorbell rang. It was a Saturday so I was off work, sitting on the sofa trying to immerse myself in a rereading of the second volume of the unexpurgated edition of The One Thousand Nights And One Night. Since I hadn’t ordered any deliveries, and I was in no mood (or for that matter clad) for visitors, I was tempted to ignore it until whoever it was went away. But then I heard an extremely familiar voice calling my name.
“Juliana, I know you’re in there. Open the door or I’ll call a locksmith to open it.”
My head whipped round, my mouth opening in surprise. “Coming”, I called, and – dragging on a pair of shorts over my naked lower body – I went to the door (I was still wearing the T shirt I’d slept in because why not?). “Oh my Cthulhu. It’s you.”
“You were expecting someone else?” I hadn’t met Mila in four or five years, but she hadn’t changed at all. She’s one of those women who in their mid forties still somehow manage to look as though they’re 20, and without the aid of plastic surgery or tons of professionally applied makeup. “May I come in?”
I realised I was standing blocking the door and goggling up at her like an imbecile. “Come in, of course. What made you turn up suddenly?”
She perched on the sofa and picked up the book. “Ah, Shahrazad,” she said. “Probably the greatest character in fiction. I often wish I could meet her.”
“Mila...”
“Yes, well...” She looked me up and down, from my unkempt hair to my nail-polish-less toes. “I’ve been going out of my mind with worry about you. After your accident...”
“You know about that?”
She frowned. “Of course I know about that. Do you imagine I live under a stone? Why didn’t you call me?”
I didn’t know. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m just not important enough to bother anybody.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m here, aren’t I?” She looked me over again. “Juliana, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“Of course you aren’t. Just look at you. When did you last eat?”
I couldn’t remember. Probably the previous evening.
“I thought so. I’m going to make lunch for you.”
“But I’m not hungry,” I protested.
“I’m going to make lunch for you, Juliana.”
So she made me two egg and bacon sandwiches and sat watching me eat. “I took a fortnight off work to check up on you,” she said. “And I’m very glad I did. You look as though you’re about to fall apart.”
“I’m all...” I began, and caught the look in her eyes. “No, I’m not all right. But I’ll get better.”
“Not the way you look, you won’t. I’m going to stay and look after you.”
“I can’t let you waste your leave on me!”
“The subject isn’t open for discussion.” She got the closed look on her face that I knew so well from our college days, the one that said that her mind was made up and wouldn’t be swayed. “You can kick me out if you want, of course, but all that’ll mean is I’ll move to an hotel nearby. I won’t leave you alone like this.”
“I won’t kick you out,” I said. “But why, Mila? Why are you doing this?”
“Do you think I could draw a peaceful breath when I know how you’re hurting?” Her eyes went to the scar across my forehead. “Is that from...?”
“Yes,” I said. “I have a lot more...all over my body. It’s all cut up.”
“You’re still beautiful,” Mila said, reaching out to touch my forehead. “You need to realise that. Tell me what’s going on?”
I told her what I could. Some of the things, like the dreams, I couldn’t find the words to express, so I said I hadn’t been sleeping well.
“I’m not surprised with all you’ve gone through. Did they refer you to a physiotherapist?”
“No, but they gave me some exercises for my leg and foot muscles. I do them, at least when I remember to.” I laughed, and my laugh sounded to my own ears like a bark. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed. “I haven’t exactly felt much incentive to remember to.”
Mila’s eyes were dark with concern. Suddenly she stood up. “Strip.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want to see everything. All the damage this did you. That means physical as well as mental.” She smiled just a little. “It’s not as though I haven’t seen you naked before, you know.”
Not altogether willingly, I took off my T shirt and shorts. Mila didn’t say anything for a minute, then she got up and took my hand.
“You’re still the same person under the scars,” she said. “You’re still beautiful. You need to realise that. Nothing’s changed, not really.”
"You think so?”
“I know it” She pulled off her top and began unhooking her bra. “Now, I’m hot and sticky. I need a shower.”
“The bathroom’s over there.” I sighed slightly. “I remember showering with you.”
“Want to do it together again now?”
I began putting on my clothes again. “No.”
******************************************
Late that afternoon Mila asked me to get dressed. “We’re going out.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t even get into a car. I told you.”
“We’re not going to take my car. We’re just going to walk around the neighbourhood, visit the park, and then go out for dinner someplace nearby.”
I didn’t want to, but Mila wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I reluctantly pulled on a pair of denim trousers, a shirt, and trainers. It had been days since I’d last even been down to the street, and my heart began racing as soon as I saw the cars rushing by. Then Mila grasped my hand and held it tight.
“I’m with you,” she said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
That helped a bit, and I walked beside her, but I still couldn’t relax until we got to the park. I sat with my back against a tree and Mila surprised me by lying down on the grass and plonking her head in my lap. “Remember when we used to do this back in college?”
Despite myself, I chuckled. “The way I remember it, I was the one who used to put her head on your lap.”
“So? At least one of us gets to put her head on the other person’s lap.” She smiled up at me and reached up to run her fingertip down my nose to my lips and chin. “Juliana...”
“Yes?”
“I’ll help you get better. That’s a promise.”
I sighed and looked up at the sky. It had been a long time since I’d taken a look at it. There were lines of white cloud, like ripples on water, and a bright yellow speck that was probably a light plane. I wondered what it would be like to fly one. “I can only say I hope it’s possible.”
Later, as dusk was falling, we went to a restaurant. It was rather dark, the decor was dull red lighting and walls that were made to look like the inside of a cave, and there were artificial flames flickering in niches. The waitresses were dressed like devils.
“I’ve never been here,” I said. “Wonder what the food’s like.”
The food was all right, more than all right in fact. As we were finishing, Mila looked over my shoulder. “That party over there, at the table behind you. One of the women has been looking at you ever since they sat down. Someone you know?”
I turned just as the woman Mila had mentioned turned to look at me again. There was something very familiar about her but I couldn’t think where we might have met. Then she got up and walked over.
“Hello, Ms L_____,” she said. “I thought it was you. Are you fully recovered?”
“Yes, well...” Then I finally recognised her. “Amanda! I didn’t know you out of your uniform.”
She grinned. “We do have lives outside the hospital, you know.”
I introduced Mila. “This is a very old friend of mine. She’s visiting me for a couple of weeks.”
Amanda and Mila exchanged glances. “She said you took great care of her,” Mila said, completely untruthfully. I’d never mentioned Amanda to her. “It’s nice to meet you in person.”
“Um...” Amanda glanced over her shoulder. “I need to get back to my friends. Ms L_____...”
“Call me Juliana, please. Nobody except at work calls me by my surname.”
“Juliana. Could I have your phone number?”
Somewhat surprised, I gave it to her. She gave me hers, darted one more look at Mila, and went back to her group. Mila chortled.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Here you are, feeling unworthy and unattractive, and that girl over there is head over heels fallen for you.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
“Come on. She’s been looking at you as though she could barely stop herself from tearing your clothes off right here, and the way she looked at me...”
“How did she look at you?”
“The daggers shooting out of her eyes were a metre long.” Mila laughed again. “She’s got it bad. My Juliana, the breaker of hearts.”
“She must be half our age,” I protested.
“How does that make a difference?” Our waitress came to the table and Mila asked for the bill. “Didn’t you ever get any signals from her when you were in hospital?”
I thought back. “No...” I began, then I had a memory of Amanda bathing me. Did her hands only linger over my cuts and bruises? Suddenly I remembered her sponging my breasts with just enough circular movements to make my nipples perk up, and how she moved the sponge down my cleft while cleaning my pudendal area, always with a little twirl or two round my clitoris. Under other circumstances I would have noticed it, but in the hospital sex was the last thing on my mind.
“Realising something?” Mila said, watching me. “She does fancy you, then?”
“Shut up.” I couldn’t still make myself really believe that Amanda fancied me, but it gave me a strange feeling that it could even be a possibility anymore.
While we were leaving, though I didn’t turn to look at her, I felt Amanda’s eyes on me all the way.
******************************************
Sometime that night I came awake to Mila shaking me. “Juliana, wake up! What’s happening?”
My eyes flew open. Mila was leaning over me, her eyes wide with alarm. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“You were shaking and crying out and making terrible noises.” Mila turned on the bedside lamp. “Is it dreams?”
“The dreams,” I said. “I should have got used to them by now, but I never do.” I was still clutching my upper arms and I had to force my hands to unclench from the shirt’s sleeves. “Now you know why I started wearing this instead of sleeping in the nude.”
“What was the dream about? Can you talk about it?”
“The usual thing. I’m in my car and something terrible’s going to happen. I think this time the car was on fire and I couldn’t stop or jump out.” I told her about the other dreams. “It’s like that, four or five nights a week. I rarely get any proper sleep.”
Mila reached out and pulled me into her naked embrace. “I’ll hold you,” she said, kissing my forehead. “Try to get to sleep.”
It took some doing, but I managed it. Mila held me throughout. I think she stayed awake the rest of the night, holding me like that.
******************************************
“Know what we’re doing today?” Mila asked after breakfast.
“No, what?”
“Well, the first thing, we’ll go sit in my car.” She held up a hand before I could begin objecting. “No, we aren’t driving anywhere. I just want you to sit in the car with me. Is that all right?”
She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so we finally went down to the ground floor car park. Her car was a lot larger than mine had been, with correspondingly greater headroom and space. All the same, I began hyperventilating the moment I’d managed to persuade myself to climb into the front passenger seat.
“Hey,” Mila said, climbing in next to me, behind the wheel. “I’m with you, remember?” She put her hand on my thigh and squeezed it gently. “I’m right here next to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
After some time, my breathing quietened down, but my fingers were still clutched into fists and I could feel my toes curled tight inside my shoes. Mila stroked my head until, little by little, I could make them relax. “Feeling better now?”
“What is this? Are you trying to cure my car-o-phobia by acclimatisation?”
“Exactly. Are you more comfortable now?”
I was, actually. “I can actually breathe in this,” I said, looking around, almost in wonder. “Incredible.”
“Good. This afternoon, I was thinking, we could go for a short drive.”
“Where?”
“I made appointments at a beauty parlour for us. You need a good do-over, and so do I.”
She didn’t, of course, and we both knew it. That afternoon, I crunched myself down in the passenger seat when she started the engine and drove out of the car parking, but my body didn’t react anywhere near as badly as I’d expected. Even so, by the time we got to the beauty parlour, I was sweating.
Mila hadn’t been joking. She got us both the works, including a haircut and styling, manicure and pedicure, and followed by a full Brazilian waxing for me.
I protested, saying I didn’t feel any desire for sex anymore and so didn’t need it. “So what?” she replied. “One of these days you will, and then you’ll want to have your vagina nice and hairless.”
“It’s vulva,” I informed her for the nth time. “The term is ‘vulva’. The vagina is what’s inside.”
Mila grinned. “She’s coming back,” she said. “The old Juliana is coming back!”
I felt a bit strange afterwards, when everything was over. It was as though I had sloughed off an entire outer layer from my hair to the soles of my feet. I was so busy analysing the sensation that I didn’t even remember to be stressed when Mila drove us back.
“Today went so well,” she said, as the lift bore us flatwards, “that I think we should have a party.”
“A party?” I asked. “Where?”
“Right here at home,” she said. “I’ll get some wine, we’ll find some sexy movies like we used to back in college, and we’re set.”
“We aren’t back in college now, Mila.”
“All the more reason to do it, then.”
The wine she got was red; I knew she preferred white, but she knew that I detest white wine, and she got red because she wanted to please me. It made me tear up slightly.
“Mila,” I said. “I haven’t talked about this before, but what will your lover think of you spending this time with me?”
“Lover?”
“You have one, don’t you? A boyfriend or girlfriend? You always have one.”
She snorted. “I’m unencumbered these days. But do you really think I would stand for it if I had one and he or she told me not to spend time helping one of my oldest and dearest friends?” She kissed my forehead, right above the scar. “Juliana, you’re a lot more important than you think. To me, at least.”
I couldn’t think of what to say, so I hugged her. She hugged me back, hard.
“I love you, Juliana,” she said.
Later, we sat on my bed, sipping wine and watching softcore porno movies on the same laptop on which I’m writing this. Mila was naked. I had at first had on a T-shirt and shorts, but when Mila, watching some simulated sex on the screen, spread her legs and began rubbing her clitoris with the tip of her forefinger, I began to feel suddenly rather warm. Finally, when Mila’s finger disappeared inside her vagina, I felt hot enough to take off the T-shirt.
Mila grinned. “Are you getting aroused?”
“Aroused?” I scoffed, pointing at the screen, where an impossibly perky-breasted woman in very tall white high heels was grinding on top of a man so smoothly muscular you immediately suspected him of being full of steroids up to the ears. “At that?”
“Not that,” Mila said, her lips curling in a smile of amusement as her free hand circled her nipples. “Not at that.”
“I can’t get aroused,” I protested. “I already told you, I can’t even get wet anymore.”
“Your flush and your nipples don’t agree,” Mila said. “Just look at yourself.”
I looked down. Though I’m too dark for a blush to really show, my nipples were tiny erect points. “Hey!”
“And I’ll bet if you take off those shorts, you’ll find things are a bit changed there as well.” Mila took her finger out of her vagina and slowly, sensuously, licked it. “Still think you can’t get aroused anymore?”
“I...” Suddenly I felt very hot and restless. “I think I need to shower,” I said.
“Good idea.” She swung her long legs off the bed. “Let’s do it together.”
This time I didn’t refuse. I needed Mila, though I couldn’t really say for what. Mila seemed to know better than I did, because when we were both in the shower, without warning she turned the flexible shower attachment so that the jet of water played right on my slit. The sensation was so strong that I almost convulsed.
“There!” she said. “I told you!”
She kept the water jet on my clit for what seemed like eternity but was probably two minutes, leaving me gasping for breath, with a tightness in my lower belly I had not expected ever to feel again. It gave me a luscious sensation that, while it didn’t make me come, did give me the hope that my sexuality wasn’t quite dead. Then she kissed me, a big sloppy kiss.
“Let’s go to bed,” she said, once we’d towelled ourselves dry. “Tonight you can sleep naked, if you want. I’ll save you from your dreams.”
That night she held me until I fell asleep. I woke up once in the middle of the night, not from a dream, and though she was sleeping, her feet were tangled with mine and her hand draped over my arm. It gave me a feeling that I was safe, and, after a few minutes, I could go back to sleep.
******************************************
The next day was Monday, so I had to get on the computer and begin the day’s work. And right from the start it began to go wrong.
I’ve said before that I’m not a people person. Coping with other humans has never come easy to me, and that day I had to deal with one problem after another and be nice to people whom I would not normally have given the time of day. By quitting time I was stressed and frustrated, the back of my neck and my shoulders throbbing.
Mila had gone out earlier, and she returned just then carrying a bag. One look at me and she knew something was wrong. “What happened?”
“Bad day at work,” I muttered. “Forget it.”
“No, let’s not forget it.” She came up behind my chair and rubbed my shoulders. “Poor Juliana, your muscles are so stiff. You need a massage.”
“Yeah? Who’s going to massage me?”
“I will, of course.” She poked the bag she’d put down with her foot. “I was planning to give you one anyway. That’s why I went out to buy essential oils and stuff.” Taking out a plastic sheet from the bag, she went into the bedroom and came back. “That’s so the oils don’t get on the sheets while I’m rubbing you down.”
I stared at her. “When did you ever learn to massage?”
“Remember that older man I was seeing a few years ago? Bobby? The CEO?”
“Yes...?”
“Well, he insisted on massages, said they relaxed him. I didn’t want some masseuse getting her hooks on him, so I taught myself to do it. I don’t have any formal training, but I’m pretty good at it by now, if I do say so myself.” She poked me. “Get up, get naked, and get on the bed.”
With an involuntary shudder of disgust at the day I’d had, I closed down the laptop and began stripping. This just required me to remove my white business shirt, string tie, and bra, and then all I had on was my shorts, which Mila pulled down around my ankles.
“Hey,” I protested. “I would have taken those off, eventually.”
She snorted. “Eventually. Right. Get on that bed and lie on your tummy.”
I did, with a pillow under my face. Mila stripped herself, then fetched a couple of bottled from the bag as I turned my head to watch. She went behind me, and then I felt a trickle of liquid down my spine. Mila’s strong hands then came down on my shoulders and began kneading. Slowly, a warm glow began to flow through my skin as her touch loosened muscles that had been tight too long from stress.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” she said when she came to my right shoulder joint, the one that had been dislocated. I felt myself instinctively tense up again, but there was no pain, not even discomfort. She moved on to my arms, finally taking my hands in hers one by one and rubbing them, then stroking my fingers.
“Not for your back and legs,” she said, and moved down to them. Her fingers worked along the line of my back, and suddenly I felt her hair brush me as she stooped down to plant a kiss on the middle of my spine.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“I just thought how close you came to having this broken as well.” For a moment her voice seemed on the verge of cracking, but surely that couldn’t be. I couldn’t imagine Mila crying. “Couldn’t risk losing you. I have so few of my old friends left.”
“I’m still here,” I said. “I’ve no intention of disappearing.”
“I know, but I can’t let you kill yourself by neglect either.” Her hands moved on my lower back, from my spine out to my hips and back, in circles. I moaned. “Does that hurt?”
“No, the opposite.” I moaned again. “This feels so good.”
I was sinking into languor by the time she moved on to my bottom, rubbing and squeezing my buttocks before going on down to my thighs and calves. She was very careful with my calves, asking again if it hurt.
“No,” I said, “Keep going.”
She bent my right knee and lifted my lower leg till my foot was resting between her breasts, then took the foot in her hands and began rubbing the sole. I have very sensitive and ticklish feet, and she made sure to put enough pressure so that I didn’t flinch and draw my foot away. Then I felt a sensation like an electric shock go through me as she flicked her tongue across my toes. Involuntarily, I let out a giggle.
“How I love to hear that sound,” Mila said, and moved on to my other foot. This time I was prepared for her to kiss my toes, but I still couldn’t suppress the giggle.
“Turn over,” Mila ordered. “Let’s do your front.”
Obediently, I rolled on to my back. Mila leant over me as she began working on my shoulders again, this time from the front, rotating her torso so that her dangling nipples made little circles on my chest. This is a sensation so excruciating that only someone with really ticklish skin who has experienced it will appreciate it.
“Aaaah!” I tried to push my back into the mattress to move my skin away from her nipples. “Stop that!”
“In a bit,” she said, grinning. Then her hands went to my breasts and she began rolling and kneading them. Instantly, I felt my nipples stiffen.
I moaned again, and this time Mila didn’t ask if I was in any pain. Taking my nipples in her fingers, she gently twisted them, making me gasp. I felt a clenching sensation in my lower belly, and knew that I was beginning to lubricate.
By the time Mila released my breasts, I was breathing hard and I didn’t need her to tell me I was sex-flushed; I could feel the heat of it over my face, neck, and upper chest. “Don’t stop,” I protested.
“I’ll be back to them, don’t worry.” She ran her hands down my sides, then to my legs and feet again, rubbing each toe individually. I wriggled at the touch of her fingers on the bottoms of my toes.
“That tickles!”
She just laughed, and moved on up my shins to my knees. With slight pressure of her hands, she forced my thighs apart. I was not just totally naked but spread out exposed to her view. It made me feel suddenly vulnerable, but not in the way of being helpless. It made me feel cherished, after a long, long time.
Mila’s hands moved up to my knees, and then the insides of my thighs. Her touch changed from the firm pressure of her massage to a gentle, almost feather light, caress. I began twisting slightly as her fingers approached my recently deforested vulva.
“What do we have here?” Mila bit her lip mischievously, a glint in her eye. “Is Juliana, who said she can’t even get wet any longer, getting turned on?”
“Come on,” I heard myself whine. “Touch me!”
“I am touching you, aren’t I?” Her hands moved to my pubic area. With one hand on either side of my cleft, she began moving them up and down so my labia majora rubbed against each other. I was so wet by now that I felt my vaginal fluids trickle down my perineum. “Aren’t I touching you?”
“Not like that, you witch!” (The real word I used was not exactly witch.) “You know what I mean!”
She laughed again, the mischievous glint still in her eyes, and moved between my legs. I felt her spread my cleft open with one hand while one finger of her other hand slowly stroked my wet membranes from bottom to top, making teasing circles around my clitoris. When she finally touched the tip, I involuntarily bucked so hard that my lower back and hips rose off the bed.
“Stop torturing me,” I whined.
Instead of saying anything she stroked my vulva up and down again, several times, teasing my clitoris with her finger until I was wriggling around in a desperate attempt to get her to give me what my body craved. Then, when I was all but about to scream, her finger at last slipped between my labia and inside my vagina. As from very far away, I heard myself gasp.
Turning her hand palm up, she pushed in a second finger, crooking them so they stroked the front wall of my vagina, seeking my G spot, while her thumb rubbed my clitoris. I clutched the pillow with both my hands as the darts of pleasure lancing out from between my legs joined together and grew into an uncontrollable surge. Unable to stop myself from crying out, I hit an orgasm that left me biting my lip hard enough to draw blood.
Mila wasn’t done. As my orgasm finally wound down, she removed her fingers from my vagina only to lie down between my thighs. I felt her lips caress my labia just before her tongue snaked out to stroke my cleft and finally my clitoris.
A new orgasm was already building so fast that I had no time to prepare for it. My hands moved from the pillow to clutch my breasts, while I put my feet on Mila’s back and frantically ground my sex against her mouth as I came again. And after that again.
I don’t know how many orgasms I had before, utterly exhausted, I fell back limply; I’d lost count after the seventh. Through half open eyelashes I watched Mila Kneel between my thighs and raise one of my legs over her shoulder. A moment later the molten heat of her vulva was kissing mine.
I was so drained of energy from the crashing orgasms that I could do next to nothing to participate, but Mila didn’t seem to mind that. Taking her time, she rubbed her vulva back and forth over mine, slowly and deliciously. Memories flooded my mind of how she used to do this when we were in college, and how she had taught me to do it too, until we could compete against each other in who could bring the other to orgasm the faster.
This time it would be Mila. As she picked up the pace of her thrusts, I watched her face flush and her eyes slowly close to slits as her mouth opened into a red O. Then she suddenly began to shudder and rub herself frantically on me as she came.
After rubbing herself to a second orgasm, she almost fell down on top of me and lay on me looking down at my face, her hair a curtain around our heads, out breasts squashed together, her throbbing vulva pressed against mine. “I needed that,” she gasped.
“I did too,” I whispered back, kissing her.
“Oh, don’t I know.” Her hands found mine, our fingers twining. “You absolutely needed that. And you’ll get more of it too, every day.”
“As part of my therapy?” I said, grinning.
“Of course, but only a part.” She rolled off me and propped herself up on an elbow. “From tomorrow we’ll go out in my car in the evening, a bit longer each time. I won’t push you beyond your limits, don’t worry.”
“And? That’s all?”
“No, I think you should start writing again.”
“Writing?”
“You know, your stories. The ones on that sexstories dot com site. The ones featuring, among others, me.” She shouted with laughter at my expression. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about those?”
I blushed so hard I felt my face heat up to the roots of my hair. “How did you ever come across them?”
“Just randomly one evening, surfing for readable erotica. I didn’t exactly expect to find myself, of course. Though you certainly flattered both my looks and my abilities in bed.” She smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. “So....’Mila’? That’s the name you chose for me?”
“Do you mind me calling you that?”
“No, of course not. I rather like the name. If I ever change my name I might consider calling myself Mila. But what I meant was, you should go back to writing in your spare time. It’ll help.”
“I will, if you’ll read it.”
“You can be sure I will.....’Juliana’.“ (She called me ‘Juliana’, not by my real name, which she normally uses, naturally.)
We lay tangled together for a long time, caressing each other.
That night, after dinner, we made love again.
******************************************
So, how am I doing?
Recovery is a work in progress, and has been less than complete. Mila got me over my car phobia enough that on the last day of her visit we went out and bought me another car, a small hatchback with manual transmission, but I learnt to drive on a car with manual transmission and I have no problems with it. I am no longer house bound, and drive around the city, but am yet to be able to make myself go out on the highways where the big lorries roll.
Mila visits me at least one weekend a month, to make sure I’m doing all right. We make love then, of course, but she also insisted on my masturbating regularly to make sure I kept my libido going.
Sometimes I see Amanda around. Since I rarely go to restaurants by myself, of course this is usually when I’m with Mila. Despite taking my phone number, Amanda has not called me. Sometimes, on a Mila-less night when I’m lonely and want sex with another person, not my vibrator or shower head, I consider calling her and inviting her over, and see where things go from there. But I have not yet been able to summon the confidence to.
Anna_RoidReport