Angel from Montgomery: Part 2

Could an evening with a stranger be his redemption?

Continued from Angel from Montgomery: Part 1

Created by author with Midjourney

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One hand clutches empty air, the other his swollen cock. His orgasm fizzles, seeping back into his body and leaving in its wake a throbbing, painful ache of terrible aloneness. He is incredibly hard, painfully erect. He wants to scream and rage, but such demonstrations have never helped.

He turns off the water and takes a deep breath. He grabs the towel from its hook, realizes it’s still damp. With a rush of shame, Felix remembers the dark-haired woman in his house. Had she heard? He may have spoken aloud during his…fantasizing.

Not that it matters, he tells himself. I’m fucked no matter what. He rubs his wet hair with the towel, then dries the rest of his body. He replaces the towel on its hook, making a mental note to do laundry tomorrow, then pulls on a pair of boxers and turns off the bathroom light.

The young woman is not to be found in the living room, and he feels a pang of guilt and disappointment. The bowl she had used is washed and sitting on its shelf. Felix puts the pot of stew back in the refrigerator, then kneels by the woodstove. He fills the stove with logs and covers them with kindling, lighting it. Once the fire is going, he shuts off the rest of the lights downstairs and lays down on the sofa. He closes his eyes, willing sleep to come. Eventually, it does.

Something causes him to stir. His eyelids flutter open and he sees Dianne walking past him into the kitchen. He shuts his eyes again, feigning sleep. There is the sound of running water, then nothing. Quiet feet pad past his sofa, only inches away, then pause. Felix keeps his eyes closed.

Abruptly, he feels the weight of her body on his, hot breath on his neck. A soft kiss lands there. A whimper escapes him. He opens his eyes to find Dianne straddling him, looking down with lamplike eyes. With a trembling hand, Felix runs his fingers through her hair, tucking a stray lock behind her ear.

“Dianne, I can’t,” he says, his heart twisting like an old washrag. She blinks.

“Why are you celibate?” she asks. “I don’t think you want to be.” Her gaze is tender and hopeful. His pulse quickens and his cock responds, shifting in his boxers. She must have felt it too because she glances down, then back up to meet his eyes. “See?” she asks, smiling playfully. She starts to reach a hand into his boxers, but he catches her wrist, gently.

“I don’t…,” he begins, then falters. “I can’t. I can’t be trusted. I hurt people,” he says. “I can’t let myself lose control.”

“Control?” she asks, peering at him.

“Yes,” he replies solemnly. “When I lose control, people get hurt.” He hesitates. “Women get hurt.” His chest is tight, breath short. He is shocked at himself for admitting this to her, but also indescribably relieved.

“I see,” she says seriously, then stands. He mourns the sweet pressure of her body against his, but nods. This is the only way. She climbs the stairs to the loft, leaving Felix alone in his agony. He considers masturbating, then decides not to risk it after his failed attempt in the shower.

You stupid old man, he sighs ruefully to himself.

The sound of feet on the stairwell pricks his ears. He opens his eyes and props himself up on his elbows. His angel has returned, holding something in her hands.

The rope.