Memories and Possibilities

Dedicated to Jon –

May It All Come Back Someday;

And to The Others That Didn't Make It

*

There was no funeral. There was no body. Most people had forgotten him. I hadn't.

Years had past since the plane he was flying had disappeared. I was young and pregnant at the time – only twenty-seven years old. I can still recall every detail of that week. Jonathan had said he'd call every time he landed and even if I were out at least leave a short message about where he was. So I traced his flight from near where we lived in Bedford, Massachusetts, down the coast of the U.S., and out into the Caribbean chain of islands.

He stopped overnight at Roanoke, Charleston, and Boca Raton. His stop in Boca was the first, and only time we had phone sex, both of us masturbating as we talked dirty to each other, promising thousands of orgasms and kinky acts when we were together again. It was also the last time we had sex – or shared our love for each other. We'd been married all of two years at that point, however, we'd been high school and college sweethearts, and then waited patiently four more years while we piled up some money for our first home.

The last call I got from Jon was from the Virgin Islands early on an April evening. Jonathan had made the rounds of hotels in Charlotte Amalie, following up on dozens of telephone calls he'd made over the preceding month. All along his route down the Caribbean chain to South America he was trying to get the hotels to advertise on a group of vacation-oriented websites he and his best friend Matt were building. He was flying his own plane from resort island to island signing up clients and talking about how to best represent them on the sites. Jon and Matt's sites were already making money in the U.S., however, they knew they'd have to expand internationally to sustain their advantage.

Then the daily calls stopped.

I called the hotel Jon had been at the night before, however, he'd checked out the previous morning. I got his friend and partner Matt involved. We called some of their clients and prospects, enough to figure out that he'd left the Virgin Islands for islands further south. The airport verified that his plane had departed. Other stops Jon was supposed to make included St. Kitts, Montserrat, Antigua, and Dominica, but no one had seen him or his plane. Of course, the people I talked to all seemed overly relaxed, and had 'devil may care' attitude; it was the Caribbean Way. We called islands back towards the U.S. too, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, Haiti, Nassau, and others – every airport, every hotel, every prospect, every B&B or Inn. Nothing.

The days merged into a morass of telephone calls, searching, pleading for help from anyone, getting the official and unofficial runaround, and occasionally finding someone sympathetic that would stay on the line for a while and brainstorm about possibilities that hadn't occurred to me – to us – Matt and me. Those new possibilities became dozens of new phone calls.

Various Search and Rescue organizations put Jon and his aircraft on their 'watch list,' but again little more came from that sector of things. Hospitals had no Jonathan Roberts, or even John Does that might be a possibility. Police departments promised to make note of the disappearance, but several informed me it was unlikely he'd show up in their jurisdictions. At the end of the week, neither Matt nor I had anything to show for our efforts. Jonathan had vanished.

The following week I hired a pilot to fly me to every airport or landing strip from Puerto Rico to South America. Before we even started, the pilot helped me wend my way through the assistance the Federal Aviation Administration renders to pilots traveling down the chain. That idea also proved a blind alley in finding Jon.

The Caribbean is made up of about forty-five major landmasses large enough to sport an airport and thousands of little islands, some no larger than the room you're sitting in. The longest distance between any of them is 250 miles or about a ninety-minute flight in Jon's Cessna 310 – a twin-engine aircraft he'd put over a thousand hours in flying around the States.

I'd accompanied Jonathan on many flights, including to some of the romantic places he'd taken me, for instance, a romantic little inn near the airport on Prince Edward Island, or the nude beach along the Outer Banks, or the mountain top retreat on a gorgeous lake in Northern Michigan he surprised me with.

As we flew along from airport to airport searching for his plane, I thought about all our times together and, of course, how much I loved him. I remembered the time he'd put the plane on autopilot and moved his seat back all the way. I'd stripped and got him hard with my mouth, slobbering over his cock as we flew towards Branson, Missouri at eight thousand feet. Eventually, I'd straddled his seat and let him drive up into me. We fucked and joined the Mile-High Club. It took a week for the smell of sex to finally leave the small airplane's cabin and the leather seat I'd leaked on before I could get dressed again.

My rental pilot and I flew up and down the island chain, back and forth, and in the end had nothing to show for it. I ran out of money, but somehow found the time and energy to keep going even though I was working part time. Our monthly telephone bills ran into the thousands – calls to the islands weren't cheap.

And then, one day, about four months after Jonathan's disappearance, I just stopped. It came to me that I'd done everything I could do, called everybody I could think of at least thrice and worried myself sick. It was time to move on.

Through my Dad, I contacted our family lawyer. The normal time to get a death certificate after a disappearance is seven years. Because an airplane over foreign soil and ocean was involved, he thought he could get the timeframe shortened slightly. I needed that certificate to collect the modest amount of insurance money Jon had taken out on his life. He petitioned the court. I got the certificate about six years after our last phone call.

Jonathan Douglas Roberts was born five months after his father's disappearance. Of course, I named the baby after his father and even gave him his grandfather's first name to distinguish the two. Matt, God bless his heart, had become my surrogate husband for the child birth process, even coming into the labor room with me and massaging my aching muscles through birth.

I muddled through economically with the baby, a hodge-podge of childcare, and a couple of part-time jobs that kept food on the table and the mortgage paid. The business Jon and Matt had started flourished. Matt hired me to help in it, working from home a good part of the time. With Matt's help, I learned website design and software development, and soon he declared that I was as worthy a partner as Jon had been and in a formal ceremony over a casual dinner one evening Matt knighted me 'His Partner.'

I don't know exactly when I fell in love with Matt. It might have been in the delivery room when Jonathan was born, or one time when he came over and fixed the washing machine that had spilled water all over the basement, or when he held me through one of my many breakdowns about Jon's loss and my plight, or over one of our increasingly frequent dinners together, or when he'd hang around the house and hold Jon in his arms, cooing at the baby in a caring way.

Matt, like Jon, was a good man. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and sported a great personality and sense of humor. He had an MBA from North Carolina, and had what I called business smarts. He was daring enough to start his own business with Jon, and then to keep it running successfully through the disappearance and loss of his partner and best friend.

One night about a year after Jon's disappearance, Matt and I finally made love. We'd spent the day together working on computers in my living room, and to tell the truth I was randy. I'd developed a serious relationship with a vibrator that Jon had given me years earlier to 'moderate my sexual desires' when he was traveling. It wasn't the same as Jon; however, I could find the right spots and create fairly effective orgasms with the little device.

As the time passed since the disappearance, the vibrator had become my nightly companion. I was lonely, and I was horny, a bad combination since I started to look at all men with a different attitude, particularly Matt. At first, I'd firmly decided not to become involved with anyone for three years – then two years – then, ... oh well. Matt was not to be on my consideration list; he was a friend, a new co-worker, and too close to home and to the missing Jonathan, but over time that resolve faded too.

Matt had made me his new partner only two weeks earlier, a fact that suggested with all the more certainty that I should not mess around with him, but then we worked close to each other one day, alternately leaning over each other's shoulders at adjacent computer screens as we added some major features to another vacation planning website that helped our burgeoning business.

When we were near each other, I could smell his masculinity. It wasn't just his aftershave, it was his pheromones – it was him, the real him. I knew he wanted me; there was no doubt. Nonetheless, to all outward signs he was the perfect gentleman and co-worker, polite and non-provocative – not a hand or remark out of place.

In return, I exuded my own aromas of seduction to Matt. I didn't intend to, they just floated away from my body and into his nostrils. I studied him when his back was turned, or as he worked on his laptop. My heart fluttered, and I could feel dampness between my legs, yet, to outward appearances, I focused with laser-like attention on the project.

I broke off about five-thirty to attend to young Jon. The babysitter left. Matt suggested a dinner of Chinese take-out that he'd go fetch, and I accepted. He puttered around and set the table, and then played with Jon as I tended to the house and a few other things. Jon was an agreeable child, settling down for a long sleep about seven each evening, waking only around eleven for a nighttime feeding and diaper change.

Thus, after Matt's trip to a nearby shopping center, we settled down at our dinner table to dine. We both had some wine, and more of our easy banter about life and work. He was so easy to talk with. Although I had every reason to be bitter, Matt made me laugh and always pulled me to a place of happiness. He wouldn't let me dwell on or be maudlin about Jon's disappearance. He'd lost his best friend too. I could always cry with Matt, yet know that I'd end up feeling better and happier because he was there.

After dinner, we both carried our plates into the kitchen. I asked Matt whether he'd like a liqueur, and he thought that would be great idea. I shoed him out of the kitchen and poured us each some Drambuie. I carried the two small glasses into the living room where Matt sat watching me as I came in. He'd put on the FM radio.

I passed Matt his glass, and we each paused standing close to one another. Matt said, "Let me show you the way liqueurs were meant to be served."

I was puzzled, sure that I had selected the right glass.

Matt took a sip of his liqueur and moved in front of me. He moved to kiss me, and without a second thought I was ready. I welcomed his kiss, and then his liqueur-coated tongue, and then the jet of Drambuie that he shot into my mouth. Amazingly, I maintained the kiss with him.

"Wow!" I exclaimed as we parted, "That was the hottest and most arousing kiss I think I've ever had. Please do it again." I was almost panting the kiss had been so 'hot.'

Matt repeated the kiss, and now I was fully with the agenda. We kissed and hugged, and pushed our bodies together, and we let our hands roam everywhere. We were all over each other, and there was nothing tentative on either of our parts about it.

Eventually, I clutched his hand to my breast, urging him to initiate more intimate activities. He was ready, and quickly my blouse was raised and my bra opened to allow him access. Our tongues danced together through our moans, as his hands fondled and kneaded my taut breasts. I pushed up into him with my entire body. I wanted this man in every way possible.

I repeated the 'liquid kiss' to Matt, pushing my pussy against his thigh as I did. I unbuttoned Matt's shirt and soon ran my hands under his shirt and around his torso, fascinated by his body and the muscles I could feel flexing beneath my hands.

Matt bent down and licked first one breast and then another. He carefully avoided my nipples since he knew I'd started weaning Jon only a few weeks earlier. I'd slowed in lactating, but not completely. I smiled at him and said, "You can nurse. Do anything you want to me – anything. Suck on me – everywhere." We kissed passionately again, and then I felt a surge of erotic feeling as his mouth covered the dark areola of one breast and he sucked on the nipple. I almost came on the spot. Matt drank of my milk.

I pulled Matt through the house to my bedroom, both of us shrugging off clothing as we went. The entire day had been foreplay. As our bodies came into view, I reached down and fondled Matt's cock. I could feel it throb in my hand as I stroked. He sucked on the other breast as he drove two fingers up into my cunt. Had it not been for my own efforts and my use of my vibrator, I would have been too tight for his efforts. Instead, I reveled in the rush of sexual arousal that he created in me.

I kneeled before him and inhaled his rod, working it deeper and deeper into my mouth and throat until my nose briefly pushed against his pubes. I gagged slightly and pulled off, a long strand of his pre-cum and my spittle forming a titillating bridge between us. His cock glistened in the light we'd left on – left on by unspoken agreement so we could clearly see each other's bodies and the acts we intended.

"Fuck me," I told him as I slid up on the bed and pulled my legs back. "Make love to me."

Matt didn't hesitate; he drove his hardened cock into me like a man possessed. My legs went over his shoulders, and he thrust over and over into me, each push almost knocking the wind from me.

He talked as he fucked me: "God, Allison, I've waited all these years to be with you – what fifteen years, even more? I've loved you since the moment I met you all those years ago. Now, today, this is my wildest dream coming true – my dream of being with you, of fucking you, of making love to you." His words were sexually explicit, erotic, suggestive, and romantic, yet they came with great effort as he pushed into me.

"Cum in me, Matthew. I'm on the pill again. Just cum in me – fast. Don't wait. We can do this again in a few minutes, but right now I want you ... your semen in me. Fuck meeeeeee!"

We both came. He gave a dozen extra hard thrusts into me, and it brought me to my peak. As my climax washed over me, I felt the jets of his cum filling me. His back arched up and away from me briefly, as my body arched so my groin was pushed into his, maximizing the depth to which he penetrated me. As the moment passed, he carefully lowered himself onto me, showering me with kisses and more loving words. His long cock remained buried in me; I never wanted him to leave – I never wanted this passion to pass.

We were both soaked in our sexual juices. Matt's cum leaked from my vagina. I had apparently also ejaculated some girl juice, soaking the mattress in my fluids while spreading the remaining fluid over the two of us. The room reeked of sex although our entire act of union had taken less than four minutes. Neither of us seemed to mind.

One might have expected that our orgasms cut the edge on our passion. Instead, we both found ourselves ever more aroused. I slithered down Matt's body, allowing his stiff cock to flop from my love tunnel. I grabbed the shaft and sucked it into my mouth. He was covered in his cum and my juices, but that didn't matter. I wanted to bring him pleasure, and from his moan I apparently did.

I worked on him for many minutes, toying in every way I could imagine with his rod with my hands, mouth and breasts. I put his cock between my breasts, squeezed them tightly around him with my hands so I was like a tight vagina, and tit fucked him for a while, all the time telling him how I was now his slut and wanted his cock in or on me morning, noon, and night. I was wanton.

Suddenly, Matt reared up. "Enough, woman. It's my turn to pleasure you – and myself." Amidst my laughter, he flipped me onto my back and spread my legs. In only a few seconds, he buried his tongue in my pussy and started to suck and lick me back to ecstasy. I knew I was leaking his cum, but Matt ignored the fact. He slathered my entire cunt in his saliva, and then lapped and sucked every drop of fluid he could find. I came and then came again, clutching his head to my body to temporarily halt his pleasure assault on me.

I talked to him some more, something I'd never done before. "Oh, Matt, your tongue ... it's on all the right spots – you're making me peak again ... and again. My cunt is yours. Drive your fingers up in me. Find my G-spot ... that's it ... rub that while you suck on my clit. Ooooooh shiiiiiiiiit."

The next I knew Matthew was fucking me again, his body over me as he pounded into me. He stood and pulled me to the edge of the bed; hands on my hips, he plunged into me over and over. I pulled him to me with my legs on each stroke too, wanting him deeper and deeper.

At one point we flipped around and he mounted me from the rear, again sinking into me. He was relentless in his assault, yet I rocked back into him with each thrust. This was a hard fuck. He reached around me to fondle and pinch my nipples. My milk ran and added to the fluid already on the bed. I came again; realizing I flooded our genitals with my nectar. Matt held off.

"Let me come over you," I demanded. I wanted to be the one in control, to hammer my body into his for a change. Matt rolled onto his back, and I clambered onto his cock in a flash. Now I rose and dropped my body onto to him, each time driving his titanium hard shaft up into my body. I held my oversized breasts, offering them to his mouth as he leaned forward to suck and lap on them. Somehow, they too had become coated in our cum and juices, yet he seemed to love them just as much.

We came together again, this time with Matt jamming his cock upward over and over again into my downward grinding cunt. I must have been out of girl juice, because I knew that any other time I would have flooded again.

I fell onto Matt's body, and we kissed passionately. A minute or two later he said, "Slide off my cock. Bring you pussy up over my body ... to my mouth. I want to clean you again – to pleasure you."

Without hesitation, I rose up until only the mushroom shaped cap of his penis was acting as a plug for the juices in my vagina. We smiled at each other, our arousal almost beyond description, and then I rose even further to start to move up his body.

Almost immediately, our fluids leaked from my box, leaving a trail of sexual sap up his body. Before I sank my nest over Matt's mouth I asked, "Are you sure?" His hands on my buttocks urged me the last few inches, and then his tongue and mouth were on me again. I couldn't believe the feelings he elicited, quickly making me cum again. I held onto the bed headboard for all I was worth.

I finally couldn't stand it, and I collapsed beside him on the bed. He held me tight, and we floated down from our highs. I massaged our combined fluids into his chest and abdomen. Matt just kissed me repeatedly. My God, I felt so loved and so lusted after.

I awoke a little later to the cooing sounds of Jonathan in his nursery. I got up and slipped on a summery robe and went to the kitchen to prepare a bottle of formula. A few minutes later, I held the baby in a rocker as I fed him for the night.