Ten Years Gone — An Erotic Reunion (2 page)

Her hand is shaking as she unzips my dress pants. I’m so hard for her already that I’m actually hurting where the curve of my cock is bent the wrong way inside my underwear. Then I’m out and free, and Mareta’s fingers tracing along me are like a breath of warm air. However, I’m staring at her other hand where it’s pulled her panties to the side to show off her absolutely smooth snatch. She’s shaved clean, not a hair, not a bump on her. And as she sees my look of hunger, she whispers, “I was hoping I’d have a chance to show you that tonight…”

Her tongue reaches out for me, sending a wave of endless pleasure through me as she swirls around my head, pushing my foreskin back. I’m long and hard over her face where she crouches below me, lifting her tongue to lick the underside of my shaft. Her breasts are raised by the bodice of her dress, pressed tight to form a sea of cleavage that I could easily drown in. Her eyes are wide open, watching me.

The dream is different every time.

Sometimes Mareta only tongues me as she strokes, working me long and deep with her hand as she licks the precum from my head as fast as it oozes out. She finger-fucks herself as she does, alternating hands at intervals so that I can feel the wetness of her pussy stroking my shaft.

Sometimes I fuck her mouth gently, my hands tracing through the gentle fall of her hair as I push into her. With Mareta’s mouth wrapped around my shaft, I can see how big I am, I can feel how hard I am. I have to be careful not to go too deep, reveling in the feeling of her focus on my cock as she crouches beneath me. She works her clit hard, thrusting against herself in the same rhythm with which I’m thrusting against her.

Sometimes, Mareta deep-throats me. She’s so hungry, so wild, so out of control as she fucks me with her mouth, pushing in a little bit farther each time. She has both hands at her pussy, working her clit as she slips a finger inside herself. Then two fingers. Three.

I’m staring at her mouth stretched wide around me, my thick head long gone between her lips, my swollen shaft slowly disappearing. I can feel myself sliding inside the unfamiliar tightness of her throat, my foreskin peeling back as my precum adds to the spit that lubes me for her. I’m ready to scream, so turned on as I watch her neck distend with the hardness of me.

Then she’s coming all over herself, and the thrill of that absolute release lets her force herself down on me, her lips in my pubic hair suddenly, her chin pressed against my heavy balls.

Different dreams. Different memories that never were. It always ends the same, though.

I’m so close, pushed to the edge by the incredible pleasure of Mareta’s mouth on me. Mareta can feel it, she can hear it as I thrust harder against her, involuntary.

“
You can’t come on my dress,” she whispers, so I don’t. I come in her mouth instead, stuffing myself in as she opens wide and eagerly.

My first shot sets a smile of delight in her eyes, and then she’s moaning and swallowing as fast as she can. I have her dark hair in my hands, my cock thrusting into her mouth. Both her hands are wrapped around me, keeping me from going too deep as her tongue and lips work me. She swallows, and she swallows, and I shoot into her for what feels like forever.

When my cock finally stops throbbing, I pull out slowly. Mareta’s brown eyes are bright in the moonlight as she smiles up at me. She licks her lips, showing not a trace of cum on her tongue, not a drop spilled.

I lift her to me, crush her against me as I kiss her neck, her ears, her mouth still salty with the taste of me. She has my softening cock in her hands, my own hands trembling as I squeeze her ass, as I cup her breasts beneath their layers of cloth, sculpted and form-fitted to perfection.

“
I love you,” I whisper, and it’s true.

It had always been true.

Tonight, Mareta. Tonight.

For a long time, I thought that as I got older, things would get easier. Throughout my twenties, I imagined that the women I dated would become less flighty and more focused. More open to the idea of settling down. And most were, to be sure. They just weren’t interested in settling down with me.

When I flew in for the reunion, I had reserved a Lexus at the rental agency, not sure who I was trying to impress. At home, I drove a Ford Focus because the only time I ever spent on the road was between home and work. But heading out of the hotel parking lot that night, leaning back against white leather, I reveled in the sensation of feeling younger, feeling freer than I had in a long while. My destination was the rec center where the festivities were about to get underway. My destination was a night I’d been dreaming of for a decade now.

I still have fond memories of my first car, the vintage 280ZX I’d rebuilt most of myself, working at my dad’s autobody shop weekends and summers. I remember how much Mareta liked it, always looking for an excuse to ride with me whenever our group went anywhere. On those group excursions during the times I was dating Kim, Mareta would ride in the back, leaning forward to drape herself between our seats.

I think Mareta knew that I was never serious about Kim. But she never fully understood how serious the relationship with her was in my mind. The dreams of what could have been.

As I drove to the rec center and the trip back through ten years to a life I vowed I was going to remake that night, I thought about the long-ago night that I drove Mareta home.

She thanks me for the ride. She leans over to kiss me on the cheek. “Sometimes I wish we weren’t such good friends,” she says. “I could really go for you.” She smiles as she opens the door. And then the smile turns to surprise as I reach across her to close it.

I’m pulling her to me and she’s pressing into me as she squirms in her seat. My hands are in her long hair, my tongue in her mouth to feel her probing me back. Her hands are trembling, overcome with her passion as she slips them under my shirt, one pushing up, one down to where my erection strains against my fly.

I have no idea how she gets her shirt and my pants off so quickly in the tight confines of the front seat, but she does. And as I hold my cock, she leans across the gearshift to take it in her mouth for the first time, moaning as she feels her way around my girth and hardness. I push the seat back clumsily, letting Mareta slip into place in front of the steering wheel, her gorgeous ass raised high as she goes up on her knees in her own seat.

One handed, it takes me forever to slip her shorts off, but the reward is worth it. Her ass in the shadows is smooth and hard beneath my hand, my fingers circling around behind her, touching a trace of wetness at her pubis where it juts out between her legs.

The fantasy is always different.

Sometimes she takes me all the way in her mouth because I’m too turned on to hold back. Too hard for her, too hungry for her, and I scream her name as I shoot a load of sweet, sticky cum across her neck and her tits.

Sometimes I fumble my way into her seat, kissing her hard, feeling her push her nipples to my mouth as I suck hungrily and lift her to my lap. I feel the sweet tightness of Mareta’s virgin pussy open up around me, a thing she’s saved for me and me alone, my precum and her wetness soothing my slow advance inside her.

Sometimes we make it into the cramped back seat, where I lean back with my cock standing straight up in front me, impossibly hard. Mareta sits astride me to ride it slowly that way, taking my head with a moan, then my thick shaft. She has one hand at the dark, wet tangle of her pubic hear, the other arm constraining her hard breasts where they bounce with each of her slow thrusts against me. My arms are around her, my legs up against her ass, my skin pale against hers in the faint trace of reflected headlights that works its way through the car’s fogged-up windows.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I had to sit for a moment to let my erection subside. These dreams that plagued me had my heart racing, my face flushed as I opened the window to feel the cool night beyond.

The dreams were always different in some small way. But what was consistent, what was the same each and every time, was the feeling of how hungry I was for Mareta. How much I wanted this woman, always so close in memory, so far away.

I slipped into the main foyer of the rec center, a surprisingly plush lounge and auditorium dance floor turned over to the Class of 1991 that night. I nodded back in response to a few friendly faces, though I didn’t recognize anyone. Further down, toward the main doors, three long tables were set up where people were congregating, shaking off the years as they introduced themselves.

My parents had moved to Florida while I was in my sophomore year at college. Then when I was recruited for work two states farther away after finishing my masters, I lost my last excuse to maintain any connection to the life I’d had in high school. Truth be told, I hadn’t even thought about who else might be at the reunion tonight. Friends I hadn’t seen in ten years that I should have been thinking about, but there was only one face, one person in my mind.

I saw her then.

In the dreams, what never changed is how much she wanted me back, like I always knew she would.

Tonight, Mareta. Now.

Part Three

Like it might have been a scene from a movie, cutting past all the preamble and setup, she was there. Watching me from the side of the crowd like she’d been waiting for my arrival. Walking toward me now, glancing casually around her as if to not make it too obvious what her goal was.

She wore a dress of red silk cut above the knee, into which her firm body had been perfectly packed. She clutched a matching purse in one hand, black flats on her feet, her shadowed skin fairly glowing. Hoop earrings and a necklace of white gold shone in the light, no makeup on her face except a touch of eye shadow, like always. Her hair showed chestnut highlights where it flowed in its familiar waves. Her breasts rose firm and high, nipples peeking out through silk and the faint imprint of lace beneath.

In a heartbeat, in a single rush of breath, the ten years that had passed were gone. The eighteen-year-old I had fallen in love with, and who I had lusted after throughout those ten long years stepped up to me with a smile.

“
Mareta,” I said. “It’s so good to see you.”

She laughed, her gaze flicking down and up to take me in. “Jason. It’s been a long time.”

My head was a sudden rush of thoughts and emotions. I couldn’t take my eyes from her, trying hard to focus on her face and refrain from staring at the smooth lines of her body where she pressed closer to me. She glanced around again, her eyes coming to rest on a closed door at the opposite end of the foyer, away from the crowd.

“
Come on,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you. Here, where it’s quieter.”

I could barely nod as I followed. I was beside her, my gaze running up her bare legs to where her dress cloaked her ass, its perfect globes an echo of her perfect tits. This was the body etched into my mind over three thousand mornings of waking with my cock in my hand, stroking myself to hardness as Mareta filled my memory and I filled that memory in turn.

I felt her hand slip into mine as we reached the door. My mouth was dry. I felt every dream, every fantasy suddenly surrounding me, pressing in so that I was having trouble catching my breath. I could barely read the sign on the door saying “Pool Access — Staff Only.” Then the door was open and closed behind us, and we were alone.

She pulled me to her before we could make it another step along the shadowed, silent corridor we found ourselves in. I looked down into her eyes, feeling nothing but anxiety and a ten-year-old fear twist through me. But her mysterious smile told me she saw something else as leaned up to kiss me.

I felt my jacket and tie come off as she dragged me down the hall toward the first in a series of doors. I felt her breasts thrust up against me, my hands groping her like I was eighteen again, overwhelmed by the raw contact between us that already had my cock rock-hard in my pants. I didn’t see a sign on the second door, but as we passed through it, I recognized the features of a family change-room. Benches and lockers, folded white towels on low shelves, a bathroom stall and shower. I also saw the deadbolt on the door, which she cranked over as her smile widened.

Then she was against me again, her mouth on me, pushing wet and warm against my lips. Our tongues entwined, my voice loud in the dark as I moaned.

This is what I had dreamed of. Ten long years of waiting, and this was the night. But still, the same fear that had kept me circling around Mareta in high school like a puppy following its mother lived in me. I felt it still lurking, still uncertain, still struggling to be heard.

And so I gasped out at one point, “Are you sure?” Because in the grasp of the fear, I felt like I needed to say something, anything. I was already planning out the various and exotic ways that I’d be killing myself later if she suddenly looked thoughtful and said, “Now that you mention it…”

But she said nothing in response. She just kicked off her shoes and tossed her purse aside as she gave me her smile again, the smile I remembered from uncounted summer nights. Then she pulled her dress off at the shoulders, the red silk spilling down against dark skin, carrying the strapless lace bra with it and revealing what lay beneath.