It was years ago when she reached out to me via Facebook. She was living and working in Los Angeles and had been digging through some old things from high school when she found pictures of us together.
We dated in high school, breaking up when I left for college. She went to college for a while, joined the military, then kicked around until she found her way to civil engineering in LA. Divorced, mother of two grown children, unsure when her love life would bloom again.
I was back in Indiana, a married parent, and excited by her contact. She recalled our dates, our experiments in love, our breakup.
We stayed in touch after that initial Facebook conversation. A year or so later, she said she was coming home to see family. Could we meet and have a drink? The visit was arranged and I met her at her hotel. The years had been generous with her. Her blonde hair was nearly platinum. Her skin tanned. She'd put on a few pounds but then so had I. We spent a few hours together, having a beer downtown, driving around and revisiting old haunts, that one road where we first had sex, that other road where we rushed through love.
It was hard to leave her to return home. A sexual tension was there; it was almost palpable. But we kept our goodbye as a hug and kiss on the cheek. She'd come back, she promised.
And she did, but not before she met a man who grabbed her heart. They bought a small ranch together - he had a history with horses, and they captured her imagination. He was an exciting lover, she confessed to me, teaching her so many things about how to please him and how to pull new pleasures from him. But ...
It wasn't long before I learned about the "but...". He could be cruel, heartless even, and soon those once-hidden aspects shoved aside his more loving embraces. She needed to come home, to reground herself, if even for a bit.
We talked through all of this, and found a yearning to revisit that last hug. This time, we said, we would embrace more than each other's bodies as friends. We wanted to truly feel each other, to enjoy now what we had all those many years ago.
And so it was planned. The date was set. The location of our rendezvous determined. The commands were simple — I'd bring some wine for that Sunday afternoon tryst. She'd wear a red satin nightgown that dipped low in the front and boasted long slits along the sides.
I parked my car in such a way that bushes obscured it from the nearby roadside. It took me a few moments to push down my nervous excitement and get out, to cross the parking lot, to knock on her door.
"Come in," she said.
Sunlight spilled through the doorway behind me. There she was, her body dripping in red satin, hair pulled to one side and draped along her neck and one shoulder. Music played softly. I stood there, taking it all in, transported back more than 30 years to when I first saw her.
"Hi," she softly said and reached out a hand.
"Hi," I croaked. Embarrassed, I turned and closed the door. The room was darkened, now lit by a single dim lamp.
I set the bottle down and stood before her. She smelled of lavender and citrus. Her hair was light and smooth. Her body was warm despite the air conditioning that ran on this hot August afternoon. Under the satin, I could feel her womanly curves, curves I last felt as a nervous teen.
I bent to kiss her and she pulled my mouth to hers. All those high school kisses stolen on dark dance floors and grabbed in back seats came rushing back as our lips crushed against each other.
My hands stroked down her body, feeling it under her satin covering. She wasn't slow in seeking relief. She lift the bottom of my shirt up, pulling it up and over my head. Stroking her hands down my chest, she reached my jeans. She knelt before me, her hands deftly undoing the buttons of my 501s. My hand reaching into her platinum locks, I used her head to balance myself as she quickly pulled off my shoes, pants and underwear.
I gasped as she grabbed my hardening cock. Without preamble or discussion, she bent to the task. I knew from prior conversation that she loved to give head, and the discussions never failed to make me hard. Now, I was enjoying her oral talents.
"If you were like this back when we were dating, we'd have never broken up," I joked between moans, feeling her head bobbing up and down before me.
She stopped her task for a moment. "I know," she said. "I wish I could have done this better then." And then she bent to make up for lost time.
