I wanted to run my fingers along her hairline and tell her to kneel as a means to direct her mouth to my cock. It was on the tip of my tongue. She was lying on her side, looking up. She was there. I failed to seize that moment. It didn’t matter that I’d have any number of moments with her. That one was lost. I couldn’t do anything after that, knowing why I’d failed to follow through. Instead, I sat down beside her on the bed. I felt the the rush of blood to the tip of my erection and twinged. She stared in the direction she was facing—deftly grazed the hair on my thigh. I wanted to explain why I was hesitant. That I thought of someone else when I was with her. If I had, it would have ended that night. Instead, I chose to continue for another few weeks, seizing all the moments I could to satisfy myself. I knew I would revert to reclusion when it was over.

The last real discussion we had was about me walking from one coast to the other. She supported me. She seemed to always do that.