Gail – His Gail by Brightdark

Gail – His Gail by Brightdark

Discover the captivating adult tale of Gail in this thrilling story that explores desire, intimacy, and the complexities of relationships. Dive into an engaging narrative that promises to excite and entertain. Perfect for lovers of steamy fiction!<br/> Disclaimer: Any resemblance to actual persons, names and places, purely coincidental.

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“Oh chimes set high on the sunny tower / Ring on, ring on unendingly, / Make all the hours a single hour / For when the dusk begins to flower, / The man I love will come to me!”

Sara Teasdale “Over the roofs”, 1914.

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PART ONE. FEBRUARY 9. CRAVING.

Throwing me in the air; me flying, thrilled; catching me, landed on his arms. My shrieks and shouts of joy filled the salty air. And again, this time even higher. And catching me again. And me screaming of joy even louder. Our game. Our ritual. Me six, seven, eight, nine years old. That’s how I learned what trust is: I wouldn’t fall; he would catch me with his almighty power no matter how high I would fly.

Our summers in the Keys.

“Hellooooo!! Hello there!!! Earth to Norman. Come in Norman.”

The sudden intrusion of Professor Aldberg’s voice jolted me back to the present. His words dripped with sarcasm as he trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the board.

“Yes, Professor Aldberg?” I mumbled, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Ms. Norman,” professor’s voice was cold and sharp, like a scalpel slicing through my already fragile confidence. “Do you have any thoughts on the matter at hand? Or are you simply here for the ambiance?”

My heart pounded in my chest; a frantic hummingbird trapped in a cage of ribs. “I… I’m sorry, Professor. I wasn’t…”

Alberg raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering, like a hawk eyeing its prey. “You weren’t what, Ms. Norman? Not listening? Not paying attention? Not interested?”

“No, sir,” I stammered, “I mean, sorry, terribly sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“We can only hope” he replied dryly. “Meanwhile, let’s return to the mundane topic of the neurological system…”

I could care less about Professor Aldberg and his neurological system. The clock ticked towards 8 PM. Class dismissed. Sonia’s party invitation met with a half-hearted excuse. I slid into my car. Taylor Swift’s voice filled the car – ‘In a getaway car.’ Yeah, right.

I drove and drove. Why the fuck couldn’t he see me? The question ripped from my throat in a primal scream: “WHY THE FUCK CAN’T YOU SEE ME?” The driver next to me flinched, probably assuming I was having a breakdown or something. I forced myself to breathe, to focus.

Where the hell was I? Glancing at my watch, I realized I’d been driving for two and a half hours. Merritt Island. Sounded like a plan: drive to Cape Canaveral, steal a spaceship, blast off into the cosmos. Never have to face him again.

I took the exit, the ridiculousness of my plan growing with each mile. I looked at my face in the rearview mirror: pathetic.

I turned back towards home, dreading the possibility of him being awake. No pleasantries, no small talk about my day. A complete fucked-up mess, that was my day; just like any other day for the past months, even before Alice died.

What could I say to him? That I wanted him? In a way that went beyond daughterly affection? That I ached for him to look at me in a different way?

The gravel crunched under my tires, a familiar sound that did nothing to soothe the turmoil within me. Rob looked up as I entered the living room.

“Abigail,” his voice was deep, as always, but laced with concern. “You’re back.”

“Just a drive,” I muttered, tossing my keys onto the table. The lie hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the raw truth clawing at my throat. A forced smile, a mask to hide the turmoil within. “Needed some air.”

“How was your day?”

Bite me. “Sorry, Rob, tired. Going upstairs.” The words grated against my raw nerves. I wanted to scream, to hurl the nearest object, to shatter the illusion of normalcy that hung between us like a suffocating veil.

He stood up, looking worried and ready to step in front of me; typical Rob, a steamroller ready to flatten anything on the mere idea that something had happened to me, that somebody had hurt me. “Abigail, is everything okay?”

“Sure, Rob. Good night.” My voice dripped with venom, even I was surprised by the bitterness that laced my tone.

I turned on my heel and stomped up the stairs, slamming my bedroom door behind me. What was I thinking? Expecting him to sweep me into his arms and say, ‘Hey my little princess, how ’bout being my queen from now on and forever; hey honey, I just realized how attractive your legs are’? It was a ludicrous fantasy, a childish dream.

In my bed. Praying to fall asleep. Memories again. Me, six years old, just after their marriage: “Mum, can I sleep with you?”. They would put me in the middle, causing me to burst out laughing with tickling, until I would be exhausted and fall asleep. It worked back them. Nowadays I run out of tricks to be in his bed, or to make him come to mine; at least in the way I wanted.

And then there were the kisses, again in the summers, again in the Keys. Rob and Alice, entwined, their bodies pressed together in the sand, the way they looked at each other. ‘No one ever kissed me the way you do,’ Alice would say, and they would laugh like crazy. It was only years later that I realized they were recreating a scene from ‘From Here to Eternity’, only Rob was more handsome than Burt Lancaster, and Alice was far prettier than Deborah Kerr.

“Where does that leave me?”, I wondered. “Why this constant ache, this desperate longing? Why should I suffer so much?”. I hadn’t any answer.

3:17 AM. The witching hour, they call it. The time when the veil between worlds thins, when ghosts roam and desires run wild. Wild desires, hey? Oh boy, do I have… His arms squeezing me tight, hands roaming, igniting sparks everywhere they touched. There… and there… and… oh my… definitely inside there. His scent, intoxicating, filling my senses. My mouth on his…

I bolted upright, a gasp escaping my lips. Cold water. That’s what I needed. Heading downstairs, that’s when I saw it: the flickering blue and white light reflecting off the wall opposite my room. The TV was on. And in front of it… was he Rob? Was he watching…oh my god…porn? I stayed absolutely quiet as a ghost, stepping two stairs down to watch him better. Oh my… he… his hand… he was… yes… his pants were bunched around his ankles. I could see the pale flesh of his thighs, his hand wrapped around himself. Rob was masturbating.

My throat tightened. He moaned, head back, eyes closed. The sight both captivated and unsettled me. Heat pooled between my legs. My breath hitched as his hand moved faster, more urgently. I was desperate to go downstairs, only I wouldn’t dare. Suddenly, his body tensed. My breath hitched as his hand moved faster, more urgently. A guttural cry escaped his lips, and then he went still. His hand fell away, and he slumped forward, his breathing ragged. I saw the white fluid glistening, dripping from his curled fingers onto the floor. I wanted so bad to swallow it. I opened my mouth. I was literally drooling. I backed away slowly, returned to my room.

As closing the door, removed the pants, still standing. His image. Craving for him. I started pressing, squeezing, stroking. “Fuck me daddy”, one finger inside…two fingers “Fill me Rob”…. twenty seconds. I came. I collapsed to the bed.

PART TWO. MAY 17. HUMAN TOUCH.

I woke up. I was on his bed. So, it was true: we slept together. We made love. Every inch of my body could tell. I got out of the bed. I glanced at myself in the mirror, seeing the dried evidence of what we’d done. I didn’t want to wash it off, didn’t want to erase the proof that it wasn’t just a dream. For me, it meant the world. For him? Would he regret it?

I wouldn’t leave for college. I would stay, waiting for him to come. It wasn’t just about what happened last night, about us making love—it was about everything that led up to it, all the complicated feelings I’d tried so hard to ignore. I stayed because I needed to face it, to understand what it all meant.

As I sat there my mind started to piece together our story, all the hidden parts that I’d kept buried deep inside. This wasn’t just about desire; it was about something darker, something that had been growing between us for years, in the shadows of our lives.

I thought about the way I’d always wanted him, even when I was too young to understand what that meant. It was like he was this forbidden fruit, something I could never have but always craved. And then there was Mom—how she fit into all of this, how my feelings for him twisted around my relationship with her. I couldn’t help but wonder if my longing for him was tied to my need to replace her, to step into her shoes, to be seen as the woman she was in his eyes.

There was a dark thrill in that thought, something that made me feel both powerful and ashamed. Had I been waiting for her to be gone so I could finally have him? Had my desires somehow played a part in her illness, in the way she wasted away, leaving a space for me to fill? I knew it was crazy, but the guilt gnawed at me, made me question everything.

It wasn’t just about wanting him; it was about wanting to be the only one he wanted, to be the center of his world, like Mom had been. The thought of her with him, the intimacy they shared, made me feel like I was suffocating, and yet, I couldn’t stop imagining it, couldn’t stop wondering if I could ever be what she was to him. And then there was the jealousy—the ugly, consuming jealousy that gnawed at me every time I imagined him with another woman since Alice died. In the two years she’d been gone, there must have been others, countless others, I mean, his looks… The thought of him touching them the way I wanted him to touch me… it twisted my insides with a bitterness I hated myself for.

Maybe last night was about more than just desire. Maybe it was about claiming something I’d always felt was mine, something that was taken from me before I even understood it. But now that it had happened, I wasn’t sure if I felt liberated or more trapped than ever.