Memories Of Summer

I couldn't believe that after all these years, I'd run into him again at the lake. I hadn’t been there since the summers I spent right after college. Too soon my career blossomed, and I abandoned the lazy weeks by the water, the leisurely strolls through the woods and the evenings skinny dipping beneath the stars for more sophisticated fare.

And now there he was. Standing on the end of his dock next door to mine, looking as long, tall and lean as he had at twenty.

I let the cottage door close softly, unsure as to whether I wanted to greet him now, or gird my loins and come up with some way to sound casual and unaffected by his presence.

Yeah, right.

Then the decision was taken out of my hands as he turned, his bare chest gleaming in the afternoon sun, his swimsuit hanging low on those hips I could almost feel again beneath my hands.

My heart stuttered as he stopped, mid-stride, as he caught sight of me. Perhaps he remembered those long ago lazy days, when we snuck into the woods to make out. When we waited until our grandparents were sleeping and then shed our clothes and slid into the lake. We held one another, we felt one another’s young bodies, luxuriating in the amazing sensation of skin to skin beneath the cool water.

I remembered. Suddenly it seemed like it had been mere days ago. I remembered the smell of his sun-baked skin, the hint of fresh sweat and pine. The feel of sleek, young muscles and soft, full lips. I remembered the sweet agony of him inside me, the experience so new and bright and wondrous. I remembered the sound of his moans as he spent himself inside me, his jaw tight, his gaze sharp on mine as we rode the waves of passion together.

I felt the sun on my face and the wind in my hair as he came toward me, crossing the grass and the bridge with even, steady strides. He was older now. His face bore experience and knowledge and he carried himself with self-assurance and solidity instead of the spring of youth. Yet he was no less dear to me, no less amazing.

When he stood in front of me, looking down, I wondered what he saw. Did he note the difference the years had made in me? I was no longer the lithe, innocent girl who had given herself to him. I had gone through hard times, and good, and knew they had left their marks on me.

For a moment we stood, looking at one another. Then he smiled. And I responded with my own shy grin.

“Hello, Faith.” His voice was lower, richer.

“How are you, Neal?” My own was whispery with emotion.

“Better, now.”

He took another step closer and I breathed in his scent. The same scent that had filled my dreams for years.

He raised a hand and touched my face.

Old Boyfriends, Old Cars

I love old cars. The big wide seats, where you slid across if you rounded a corner too fast. The leg room the spacious back seats. Cars these days are so ergonomically designed it’s like sitting in the space shuttle. And let me tell you, it’s not at all conducive to fooling around when you get a leg cramp trying to climb over the shift.

So I was tickled when I got home and hooked up with my old BF, and we picked up right where we’d left off before I set out to earn fame and fortune as an actress in NYC. Jude never forgot me (he said) and he sure seemed delighted to see me (if the bulge in those tight, worn jeans that hung low on his hips was any sign).

It was the Saturday after I got home and we’d been lounging around the lake, sipping beers and listening to music and watching the sun set. We’d been necking on our blanket – all wet from swimming and horny from getting to know each other again. But there was the odd fisherman floating by, and some kids in tires, so we had to restrain ourselves.

When I got in the car next to Jude, snuggled up against him on the front seat of his 1970 Malibu 450, with good old country music playing loud, and we were headed out onto the highway, I couldn’t control myself anymore. I’d had him rubbing up against my who-ha, feeling me up and sticking that tongue of his down my throat for hours. I decided it was time to give him a little of his own medicine.

There weren’t any cars on the road, so he just gave a start when I slid my hand between his legs, pulled down that zipper and dropped my head into his lap. It was a wild, and free feeling, zooming along the road with my high school boyfriend, giving him a hearty blow job, just like old times. I’d perfected my technique since those days, though, and he was having a hard time keeping focused on the road. He eased back on the gas for safety, I guess, but I was so involved in worshipping his yummy cock that I paid no attention.

So I never saw the rickety old mobile home that had pulled alongside us on the four lane highway. And it wasn’t until Jude pulled on my hair, yanking me up so that his shiny nob popped out of my mouth, leaving a thin string of spit from my chin that hung there as I looked out the driver’s side window.

An elderly woman was leaning out the window looking down at us, her mouth gaping as she stared, while she hollered out to the old woman driving.

“Good golly, Miss Molly, would you look at that!”

What can you do? I wiped my chin, winked, waved, and then went back to finish up my business.

God, I love old cars!

It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

That’s what Rosie said as she gingerly sat down, wincing as she did so.

I looked at her with raised eyebrows. She said she’d taken up the offer of a mutual acquaintance from a trip to the Whip / Lash dungeon and had gone to “play” at his apartment.

I knew Logan from work. I’d assured her he was on the up and up. I had to admit to a little niggle of excitement and arousal as I pondered what type of ‘games’ Logan would play. He was a definite heart-throb and I’d had my share of naughty fantasies about being his bottom, but if he and Rosie hit it off, I’d have to cast my net in another direction.

“Are you OK?” She was obviously uncomfortable. She kept shifting in her seat.

“Better than OK.” She finally grinned, and I had to admit, it was a definite ‘cat that ate the canary’ sort of smile.

“So, uh, Logan fulfilled your wildest submissive fantasies, huh?” Who, me, jealous?

“Baby, you have no idea . . . the talent that man has with a paddle!”

Wicked images of me bent over, Logan whacking my ass with a paddle, the bulge in his leather pants proof positive that he was enjoying having me at his mercy. Nipped it in the bud and did a little shifting in my own seat for a whole different reason.

“I guess you two really hit it off?”

“No pun intended?” She giggled.

“Sorry.”

“Sure, he was great fun. I worked out some tension, that’s for darned sure.”

“When’s your next date?”

“Nah. Not interested.” She held up her hand. “Sure, he’s a god, and he gives good paddle – but I actually think I want someone a bit more nasty. You know – someone who’ll treat me like the bad girl I so want to be.” The wicked grin appeared again.

“Whoa. Really? I mean, you know I’ve had fantasies about being submissive, too, but I don’t think I’m ready for that whole humiliation kind of thing.”

“What can I say? It gets me all hot and bothered when some guy calls me his dirty little slut. . .” She poured a glass of wine. “Logan is a fierce dominant, but he’s a bit too much of a gentleman for me.”

An hour later, after Rosie had left to ‘go home and admire her battered backside’, I had polished off the rest of the Merlot and I glanced at the clock. Nine PM on a Friday night. If I hurried, I could slip into the perfect sub ensemble and still make it to Whip Lash. I happened to know that Logan was a night owl.

The next morning I lay on my stomach, relishing the sting of the welts on my own ass as Logan kissed my neck.

He whispered in my ear as his big hand stroked my deliciously tender butt cheek.

“What made you decide to take me up on my offer last night?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

There was a moment’s pause before he asked, “And now?”

“Now? It’s clear it was a GREAT idea.”