As soon as we got out of eye sight of the trail we embraced and we passionately kissed. We gyrated our hips together as he quickly removed my blouse and bra then he started fondling my naked breasts. I reached down and undid his pants without breaking our kiss. He followed by pushing down my pants a few inches allowing him access to my pussy and clit. We kept kissing as we mutually masturbated each other. His fingers alternated teasing my clit and then sliding into my vagina. He started to whisper in my ear, that I was a hot fucking slut and a cheap whore. Dirty talk from Kevin always made me feel delightfully naughty. All of sudden, we heard a couple of cyclists stop and start talking. We each pulled up our pants but he did let me put my top on. I felt really exposed at that time. The Kevin being the naughty boy he is, then started to pinch my nipples trying to get a sequel out of me, which he almost did. I had to push his hand off I gave him a playful scolding look. The cyclist. She was not only his lover; she was his closest friend, his confidante, his partner, his lifemate, the other half of his soul. She was his life. Nothing else in his world was important by comparison, or ever had been. If she had died, he would have been devastated; but he could have healed after that. She had not been taken from him by cruel, impersonal fate that strikes quickly and cleanly, though. She had left him, and slowly; deliberately giving him hope and promises till he knew that hope was dead in spite of her words. She had gradually abandoned him, and the wound was long and slow in being inflicted, and tore him as deep as his soul. There were so many facets to the pain. Where once they could sense each other's thoughts, there was a closed door. He had once been her life, too; and now he didn't matter to her at all. Where once love and deep friendship had been, now there was only cold indifference. She knew him better than any living soul ever had--and she had pronounced him.
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