Tears were flooding down her cheeks but she made no sound. I stopped, heart in my mouth, then told myself not to be such an arse. I forced myself over...to her, sitting next to her on the sofa and putting my arm around her. She sank into my chest and began to wail. She wept for what felt like hours, sometimes bellowing or screeching as I held her. I’ve never seen such heartfelt loss and I pray that I never feel it myself. When she’d calmed a little I began to stroke her hair, letting her use me. We lay there for some time, drinking each other in. I actually think we slept in each other's arms, our dresses open, our panties discarded somewhere in the living room.I rose and fetched a glass of wine for us both. We grabbed the cover and wrapped ourselves in it while we talked sex for a good thirty minutes. As we talked, it became clear we were both ready for more. We were touching each other, stroking each other and kissing each other as we talked. Slowly but surely, our kissing got more. I flipped the light and turned so I could see Matt's reaction.It would never win any award for set design. In fact a lot of the decor was just plain silly but it was fun. Pictures of desert scenes adorned the walls, the carpet was a short, sand colored one. There was a king sized bed piled high with many pillows and draped with thin veils making it somewhat resemble a sheik's tent. I could also see mirrors on the ceiling above it and another large one on a nearby wall. The bathroom door was. Eating soup together on the futon while watching a documentary. And you burped too, a really good, loud one. Served us right for eating on the futon and not sitting up properly at the table – you took in too much air while eating. Keeping it real, you said. I agree. But that is so not ordinary. Not after two weeks. No, it wasn’t the keeping it real part. It wasn’t even the part where you sang for me – I can still hear you say “people pay me good money for that” or words to that effect..