Perfect golden autumn day. Those seven syllables kept rolling through my mind, part of a haiku that was trying to emerge as I raked up leaves in the yard I had known so well as a child. It was, indeed, a perfect golden autumn day, a day that evokes the sweeter side of melancholy, an incomplete emptiness that leaves hope available. I was home again - not my home, but my childhood home, the house in which I had grown up. It was six weeks since mom had passed, and my sister Sarah and I had both come home to begin sorting through 43 years our parents' life together.
The last five of those mom had been alone, dad having finally reaped the fruit of two packs of Camel straights a day for 51 years. He had started in the Army and just never stopped, which eventually killed him. Mom had been happy these last few years, but after a trip to the coast in late August she had come down with a summer cold that developed into pneumonia. She was gone in two weeks, peacefully at the end. I had been able to come and help her then, which was nice since the two of us had a chance to close up old divides and misunderstandings between us - nothing too serious but still good to talk through. Now Sarah and I had both made the trip home, figuring it would be best to get started on closing up the house and preparing it for sale before winter arrived.
Sarah had gone out early that day and not yet returned. I'm not sure where she had gone, but she had mentioned the evening before that she expected to be out most of the day. I had slept relatively late (9:30) and then taken a long relaxing shower. After getting coffee and a bite to eat I had headed outside to rake the leaves. I was pleasantly surprised at the memories this called forth, memories of doing exactly this before, so many times as a teenager. The familiarity of the yard, the aromas of fall, the slight chill in the air, and the golden quality of the sunlight slanting through the trees - all of this conspired to create the melancholy I mentioned.
But I was not unhappy. In fact, I was deep into a playful reminiscence: It had been in the very corner of the yard I was now raking, right in the middle of the three fir trees arranged in a triangle, their low drooping branches creating a semi-private area that became entirely private when it was dark. It had been right here, 11 years earlier, at the start of my senior year when I had just turned 18, that I had my first sex with a girl. Not full on fucking but feeling up and eating out a pussy for the first time in my young life, and getting a blowjob in return.
Her name was Jenny, and she and I fooled around with each other a bit in high school. Her birthday was a week before mine, so she was also 18. I remembered being overwhelmed by the smell of her once I got my hands into her panties that night, that musky smell of female arousal that lingered on my fingers all the next day. It still turns me on, and now here I was raking up the oak leaves that had blown into the space between the fir trees from the main part of the yard and starting to get a hard-on just thinking of that smell and that night.
Jenny and I had gone between the trees to smoke some hash, which I had miraculously scored from my friend Josh, who normally sold everyone grams of pretty decent green bud for ten bucks apiece. But that week he had this hash, and I had promised Jenny we could check it out together if she came over. It was the evening of a beautiful fall day not unlike this one. She and I sat down in the grass and smoked not one but three bowls. Then we started giggling about something and the next thing you know we were rolling around together on the ground, which led to a wrestling match, which, as usual, I let Jenny win, so she ended up straddling my chest with my arms pinned above my head.
Then she kissed me. We had kissed before, but this was different from the start, more intense and passionate. Jenny was on a mission. Her tongue slipped between my lips and we started really making out. She was alternately pressing in on me with her mouth and then pulling away a little bit. This whole time she never released my arms, and I found that I enjoyed the forced restraint. She started grinding her pussy against me, slowly, deliberately, and I could tell she was getting aroused.
Two weeks before this night, the last time we had fooled around like this, she had let me put my hand up her shirt. Later I suspected she had planned on me doing this, as to my surprise she was not wearing a bra. So for a good ten minutes I had felt her up while kissing her, at first just clumsily covering her whole breast with my hand and pressing down but soon figuring out that her nipples were especially sensitive and that she enjoyed having me twist them between my thumb and forefinger and then tug on them once they were pointy and stiff. She had moaned from deep within her throat with a husky sound I still find very sexy in a woman's voice.
But on this night I was remembering she had on a fairly heavy sweater, and with my arms pinned like they were there was no possibility of me getting my hands on her tits at the moment. So I lay there and let her have her way with me, enjoying the way she was pushing herself against me. I felt sure she must have felt my hard on through my jeans, and her heavy breathing made it clear that she was pretty aroused herself. I love making out, so her kisses alone were enough to turn me on. But her being in more or less total control of the situation also excited me in surprising ways.
Then she released my lips just to take a breath, and she paused to look up at the moon that was shining down on us through the fir branches. I took advantage of that to turn the tables on her, twisting my hips underneath her and lifting my ass off the ground just enough to get some leverage to roll her over. In a flash I was on top of her with my right leg between her legs and my hands now holding hers down on the grass. "Mwahahaha... now I've got you, my pretty," I said in my best imitation of the Wicked Witch of the West.
She giggled at that but then my lips were back on hers. Pleasant though it was, I was done with the teasing and playfulness of our tongues dancing together. I pressed aggressively against her mouth and pushed my tongue deep into it. She was taken aback at first but soon was giving as good as she got and the two of us started writhing against each other in increasingly heated passion. Then while we kissed I moved my right hand up to her cheek, and now that her left hand was free she put it up on the back of my head, running her fingers through my curls. Our lips broke apart for a moment and we looked in each other's eyes. What I saw in her was a beautiful mixture of love and lust, and even though my teenaged mind didn't understand how special that was I did have a vague sense that this was a rare moment.
