3 comments/ 7012 views/ 9 favorites A Beautiful Sea and a Beautiful Lad By: stfloyd56 One lazy Saturday afternoon over two years ago, I was browsing through an old college acquaintance's Facebook page, when I spotted one of his "friends," a woman I knew well when I was in school nearly three decades ago. Though we weren't together for long, I was head-over-heels in love with her. She ended up only spending one year at EDSU, then transferred to a women's college in Texas. But just a few weeks before the end of that year, we spent one unforgettable, bizarre, and hazy evening together. Seeing her name again after all those years brought memories of that night flooding back. I was both intrigued and excited thinking about her. Suzette Pearce was a shapely, Irish Catholic girl that I met through my roommate and best friend. Jack. She was from Jack's hometown, and Jack had graduated from high school with Suzette's sister Deanna, who married one of his good friends and another high school classmate Jon Jewell. Suzette's parents owned a cattle ranch, and were extremely conservative Catholics, especially her father. Luckily, in her huge family, only two of her 11 siblings were female. As is too often the case in girls, the repressive effects of a conservative upbringing can give rise to rebelliousness and an aversion to being perceived as a "good girl." In Suzette's case, she had developed a reputation for being easy. I was no doubt well aware of that reputation when Suzette started hanging around our house during my sophomore year of school. Suzette was a freshman, a year younger than I was, and she lived in the dorms. I guess I understood that the constraints of those living arrangements put a crimp in her lifestyle, so it was understandable when she soon started partying at our place several nights a week. We had a lot of parties, and Suzette liked to party. Jack had introduced her around to a number of our friends, including Malcolm, a handsome black buck, who was the starting point guard on our school's basketball team. Coincidentally, years later, Malcolm actually had a tryout with the Los Angeles Lakers. Malcolm had carefully honed his own reputation: as an incorrigible horndog, who took great pride and pleasure in corrupting white girls. He was a master at maneuvering himself into one night stands or parts of one night stands with them. Malcolm didn't so much try to bed girls -- there were too many complications involved in that -- as he contrived to get them to play his "skin flute." Malcolm claimed his personal record was three flautists in one evening, and I, for one, believed him. According to Malcolm, Suzette had "played a little tune for him" in the janitor's closet of the dorm in which they both lived. Now Suzette was at our house several nights a week, and I couldn't help but assume that her amorous interests were being directed my way. Jack was a notorious ladies man, but he had a serious girlfriend at the time -- Beth who, for all intents and purposes, lived at our house. I had to believe that for that reason Suzette would have regarded Jack as off limits. Besides, if she took up with him, her family and most of her hometown would have heard about it. My other roommate, T.O., a Music major, who worked at the college radio station, was hardly ever around. When he was, girls just didn't gravitate toward him, and vice versa. Not that he was ugly or defective in any way, and he certainly wasn't gay, but at the time, T.O. was more infatuated with jazz records and a quixotic desire to transform himself from a novice saxophonist into the next Sonny Rollins than he was with girls. You would have thought that if any woman could have gotten T.O.'s attention it would have been Suzette, what with her proclivity for "woodwinds." But she didn't. Interestingly, T.O.'s first instrument was actually the flute! That left, according to my math, me. We started flirting with each other a lot, and occasionally making out, so I knew that Suzette liked me, but whenever things might have started to get interesting, she always had to catch a ride back to the dorms, according to her, while "a ride was still being proffered." That's how she always got to our parties -- she'd beg one of her girlfriends from the dorm to give her a ride over to our place, promising a kickass soirée. I was not very aggressive, nor was I all that experienced in romancing girls, so when it came to proposing an alternative to the ride from one of her friends -- namely spending the night with me -- I was too shy or too polite to say anything. Besides, if she had decided to spend the night with me, I would have been too embarrassed to purse any romance until our privacy was completely assured. You see, my bedroom was ostensibly the house's dining room, a vestibule off the main living area. In some ways I couldn't complain, because it was the biggest room in the home. But it was separated from the rest of the house, not by a door, but by an archway from which I hung a huge tapestry, the only source of privacy that I had and an inadequate one when we hosted parties centered in the living room, five feet from my bed. As a result of this architectural impediment and my bashfulness, my only chance for sexual antics was to find a willing partner who was still awake after everyone else had gone home or gone to bed. Suzette might have been a lot of things, but she wasn't a hanger-on. The bottom line was that the extent of my physical relationship with Suzette was confined to some playful kissing on the couch in the presence of 50 other people or some heaving petting in my car parked in the backyard. Not that I wasn't extremely attracted to Suzette. She was stunning. She had a beautiful face -- a cute chin, soft, sensual lips, a delicate nose, piercing hazel eyes, a flawless complexion, and shining, shoulder-length brunette locks. And her body -- my god! Her ample breasts gave way to a slender waist and a tight, sturdy ass. But Suzette's good looks and hourglass figure belied some serious strength. Though she wasn't particularly tall, she had wide shoulders, and extremely strong arms and legs. I found this out one night when Suzette and I were talking and drinking beers at our kitchen table. Get this -- she challenged me to an arm-wrestling contest! I demurred. It was a lose-lose proposition, no matter how you looked at it. If I agreed to join in and won, I was an asshole who was proud that I was stronger than "a girl." If I refused to participate, I was afraid of losing a battle of strength to "a girl." And if I participated and lost, hell, I was weaker than "a girl." But Suzette kept bugging me until she eventually tricked me into putting my arm on the table, feigning the arm wrestler pose. I had no intention of actually challenging her. But then, before I had a chance to react, she grabbed my hand, and using the leverage advantage that she possessed by not having her own elbow on the table, she nearly pinned me. I fought back to even, and then made her play fair by putting her elbow down, and in short order, I won a contest that I had absolutely no interest in entering. Still, that evening I learned the source of Suzette's considerable strength. First, she had grown up fighting with her older brothers, who were all huge and athletic football players. Second, she spent her time on the ranch wrestling hay bales, saddles, and yearling cattle. One early Saturday night in May, only two weeks before the end of the spring semester, Jack and I were in the mood to "get out of Dodge." Beth was out of town, and I sensed that Jack was in the mood for some infidelity. We had decided to go to a party in Springfield, my hometown, hosted by three of my high school friends. They had just moved into a huge house on Wisconsin Avenue and were looking to christen it with a big bash. Just as we were about to head out the back to the car, there was a knock on the front door. I answered it. Standing alone on the front porch with a forlorn look on her face was Suzette. She was looking particularly fine that evening, but I could tell that she was disappointed. She had walked over to our place from the dorms by herself expecting a party. Instead, she had found a dark and nearly empty house. "Aren't you guys partying tonight?" Suzette asked dejectedly. "Actually, we were just heading out the door for a party in Springfield that some of my friends are having," I responded, knowing what Suzette was thinking immediately. It would have been impolite of me not to ask, and I, of course, had my own ulterior motives. "Would you like to come with us?" I asked hopefully. "Are you guys coming back tonight?" "No, this will probably go pretty late, but it's a huge house; they have five bedrooms. My buddies promised us that they've got rooms reserved for us." I could see her perk up when I said that. "Will you be back by noon tomorrow?" Suzette inquired. "I have to study for a test." I would learn later that this was not her real motive. Apparently, every Sunday around noon, Suzette's parents would call to find out if she had attended Mass that morning. Of course, they would have had no way of knowing one way or the other, but she had to be there to take that call. "Yeah, we'll be back sometime in the morning; Jack and I have to study tomorrow, too. Come on, it'll probably be a lot of fun; why don't you come along?" I was trying to sound chivalrous, not desperate, but it probably came off as tactlessly self-serving. "Sure," she said smiling brightly, and I let out a silent "yahoo." This was the late 1970s, and we were proud party animals that could hit the road at a moment's notice in pursuit of orgiastic bacchanalia, so the notion that people would pack toothbrushes, changes of clothes, much less superfluous things like pajamas or robes was antithetical to our collective consciousness. Apparently, Suzette was good with that as well, because she didn't ask us if we would stop at her dorm on the way out of town. We piled into Jack's big boat with Jack behind the wheel and Suzette sandwiched between him and me in the front seat. As soon as we hit the highway headed south, I pulled a joint from my pocket, and the three of us passed it back and forth. It was a little less than an hour's drive to Springfield, and when we arrived just a little after 9:00 p.m., the party was in full swing. Usually, these guys' parties pretty much came off the same way every time. Early on, there were too many partygoers -- a lot I didn't know, and some I didn't particularly like -- but as the evening wore on, the crowds thinned, leaving a pretty cool mix of people. Around midnight the conversation, music, and intoxicants all improved dramatically. I told Suzette that we just had to be patient. We went inside and immediately gravitated to the crowded kitchen where a keg sat invitingly in an ice tub in the middle of the room, right next to a big, round table. It was undoubtedly some awful shit -- probably Budweiser -- something that had very low alcohol content and no taste. A few of the people gathered around the keg were friends of mine, including two of the hosts -- Tim Mueller and Tim Fitzgerald, good buddies from high school. We were each given a beer, and a joint of some very average weed went around the room. There were so many people crowded together that Jack, Suzette, and I only got two or three hits off the jay. More joints were produced, but again we partook only minimally. After about a half an hour, Jack spied one of his old girlfriends Jan wandering around, and the two of them disappeared, probably bound for one of the private bedrooms that we had been promised. I poured Suzette and I each another draught from the keg, and we wandered the rest of the house exploring the party. We stood around in the living room for little bit, but some butthead was playing a Bob Seger record, and I could not abide that, so we wandered into the backyard where a few people I knew were gathered, and we talked to them for awhile. Despite the fact that I had my arms wrapped around her the whole time, Suzette quickly grew cold and wondered if there was anywhere we could sit down inside. We eventually found ourselves in a TV room, separated from the rest of the house by full-glass French doors, covered by curtains over the glass windows. Inside, relaxing in a recliner in front of the TV, watching the last few minutes of the local sports broadcast, was an acquaintance of mine Steve Lorie and a girl on the other side of the room in a matching recliner that I didn't know. Steve introduced her as his girlfriend Tracy. "Why don't you join us?" Steve invited. "Have a seat." He motioned to the empty couch on the wall opposite the TV. I looked at Suzette, who shrugged her shoulders and then shook her head, so we sat down next to each other on the couch. I introduced Suzette to Steve and Tracy, and we settled in. This seemed like as good a place as any to wait until the crowd thinned out. "Whatcha watchin'" I asked stupidly, as the sportscaster was engaged in some mindless banter with the two anchors, signaling the end of the broadcast. "We're just waiting for Saturday Night Live to start," explained Steve. "Steve Martin's hosting," Tracy piped in. "He's pretty funny. You know, that "wild and crazy guys" shit. She said it in the fake Czechoslovakian accent. "I like Bill Murray and Dan Akyroyd the best," contributed Suzette. "Me, too," I said. Saturday Night Live came on, and we watched for a little bit. During the first commercial break, I excused myself to use the bathroom. I came back, and sat down, drank the rest of my beer, and pretty soon things started to get fuzzy. This made no sense. I had drunk two weak beers and had a dozen or so hits off some far-from-primo herb, and that should not have made much more than a dent in my sobriety. I remember watching Aykroyd and Martin do a "wild and crazy guys" routine. A few people came in and stood around for a little bit. Steve Martin played his banjo. Steve and Tracy left. I remember making out with Suzette, feeling up her great tits, and squeezing her tight ass through her jeans. But after a while I couldn't even do that, no matter how much I wanted to. Besides, we were in public place; there were people around. I kept thinking that I wanted to take Suzette into that empty bedroom -- that this was my chance -- but there was no way I could walk that far. I was dizzy, could barely move my arms and legs, and had an incredibly difficult time even keeping my eyes open. The last thing I remember was laying on my back on that ugly, plaid couch with Suzette lying on top of me, her tongue buried in my mouth and all but the bottom button of her blouse unfastened. That is, until morning. Before I even opened my eyes, I could hear birds chirping. Then, I slowly peeled my eyelids back, and I could see the pale, pre-dawn light spreading across the eastern sky through the window behind the couch. I could feel that something very strange, but very, very good was happening to me. I had a horrible hangover, and I didn't know where I was or who was with me, but I tried to focus on the pleasurable sensation, and after a little while, things started to become a little clearer. I came to realize that my belt was undone, my jeans and shorts were pulled down below my knees, and that someone, that I presumed to be Suzette, had crawled between my legs and had taken me in her mouth before I was even conscious. My head was pounding, and I had not even begun to sort out the confusion from the night before, but now I could see the head of the Suzette apparition moving up and down, and I could feel myself growing as the apparition demonstrated its prodigious oral talents. It was getting a little bit lighter in the room, and now I could recognize a head of brunette hair moving above my crotch, and without stopping that movement, the head looked up and confirmed its identity. It was Suzette, who when she realized that she was performing her skills upon a sentient being, became more demonstrative, using her hand to stroke my shaft more vigorously while she sucked me at the same time. Suzette was using her soft lips to great effect now, moving up and down and sucking with a great amount of pressure around the crown of my mushroom head, and at the same time, using her tongue to dart back and forth over my glans inside her mouth. Then, she would momentarily release the suction on the sensitive ridge around my head and use her tongue to swirl around the top and sides of my glans, flicking the very tip for a few tantalizing seconds on the frenulum on the backside of my head. I was fully aroused now, but I was still woozy, confused, and a bit lost. More importantly, though I had enjoyed my fair share of blowjobs prior to this moment, none of them had even come close to this, and no woman had yet brought me to climax with her mouth. So in my impaired state and with no experience in this particular theatrical area, I was not fully prepared for my impending orgasm. Thus, I failed in my gentlemanly duties. I did not inform Suzette that I was about to cum. When I erupted in her mouth, she seemed a little taken aback, or at least surprised. Maybe she thought breakfast should not have been served so early. Whatever her thoughts, she quickly climbed off of me and ran out of the room and down the hallway, to, I presumed, the bathroom. Apparently, swallowing was inconsistent with her Catholic values or at least her taste in breakfast foods. When she returned, Suzette tossed a hand towel onto my naked lap. Even in my confused state, I correctly assumed it was intended to clean up whatever mess was left upon my dick. Maybe it was me, but she did not look happy. I, on the other hand, was experiencing a strange mixture of feelings -- embarrassment for having cum in a woman's mouth without warning; anger that said mouth was placed, without permission, on what I had previously understood to be my personal and private property; deep affection, and maybe even love, for the person who violated those property rights; and general exhaustion, confusion, dizziness, and nausea. Then, I made what I would come to regard as the most impetuous and, in the grand scheme of things, regrettable decision of my entire life. Without saying anything, I stood up, pulled my shorts and jeans up around my waist, and wandered out the door and down the hallway to the living room, where I could find another couch on which to sleep off my massive hangover. Along the way, I nearly threw up. By the time I laid down, I had already begun to lament my hasty decision. I mean, how could I do this to Suzette? She had just been kind enough to offer me a blowjob, a blowjob so spectacular that, only minutes before, I had cum in her mouth, and now I had left her alone. I was at the very least infatuated with this girl, and in all likelihood in love with her. I felt like I needed to go back and at least explain myself and apologize. But when I stood up to do so, I became so dizzy that I thought I was going throw up again. I quickly lay back down. My head was spinning so uncontrollably that at first I couldn't fall asleep again. After probably a half an hour, I was able to close my eyes, and eventually I dozed off. I must have slept for about three hours. When I woke up again, the house had begun to come to life. Fitzgerald and the third roommate Randy Price were cleaning up, attacking the kitchen first, which was an absolute disaster. Pretty soon Jack and Jan came stumbling out of their bedroom. They asked me why Suzette and I didn't take advantage of the other bedroom, replete with the Queen-sized bed. I didn't think it prudent, nor even possible, at least at that moment, to explain. Besides, that reminder only made me feel worse about what I had done to ruin my chances with Suzette. So I got up off the couch and went in to find her in the TV room. I felt so badly, but the wound seemed so raw that it was just not the right time for explanations. Suzette got up, and with very little conversation, we joined the others in the kitchen, where Fitzgerald was serving up coffee. After a cup, I began to feel partly human again. A Beautiful Sea and a Beautiful Lad Jack kissed Jan goodbye, while Suzette and I looked on uncomfortably. We thanked Mueller, Fitzgerald, and Price, and got back into Jack's car for the return trip to Kingsbrook. It was largely a silent journey. Once we were on the highway again, Jack asked us where we had disappeared to. I was too sick to want to talk, and Suzette was largely uncommunicative. When we arrived back at her dorm, I was so sick and embarrassed that I forgot to give her a kiss goodbye. That was the last time I saw her. We had one more week of classes, and the following week was finals. When the semester ended, she went back to the ranch, and then, in the fall, on to the women's college in Texas. After we dropped off Suzette, Jack and I stopped at one of our favorite local dives for breakfast. The first few forkfuls were rough going, but once I finished eating, I felt much better. Now, all I needed was sleep. Jack dropped me off at home, and I forsook the need to study and jumped right into bed. He went on to the library to study for an Organic Chem test that he had the next morning. He didn't get home until late that evening. When I woke up a few hours before that, I tried to process what had happened to me the previous evening. I just didn't understand. I could party with the best of them, and when I arrived at that house that is exactly what I intended to do. Two beers and a few hits of pot could not possibly have done that to me. Somebody had to have slipped me something. I tried to retrace my memories of when I started feeling so incredibly messed up. We had been watching Saturday Night Live. I remembered that I had gotten up to use the bathroom, and that at that point, I felt fine. I still had half a cup of beerin my hand, but there was no table next to the couch where I was sitting, so when I started to walk out of the TV room, I set the beer down on the end table that was right next to Suzette. When I came back, I picked up my beer, sat down, and quickly finished the last half of it. A few minutes later, I started to feel strangely. Then it occurred to me! Suzette! It had to have been Suzette! She must have put something in my beer. I remembered that Steve and Tracy's recliners were in front of the couch that she and I sat on and were angled toward the TV. I remembered that when they were talking to us, they had to turn their heads to see us. Suzette could easily have put something in my cup without them having seen anything. It would be at least 15 years before I knew what Roofies or Rohypnols were. Still, I had seen enough hard-boiled detective movies to know that, at least in the movies, disreputable types were capable of slipping a Mickey to an unsuspecting victim, usually the good-looking woman. I shuddered to think that in this case, I was playing the role of the good-looking woman and Suzette was the disreputable type! Did she really slip me a Mickey? And if she did, why? So she could have sex with me? Why would Suzette fail to understand my willingness and great desire to go to bed with her, and, misinterpreting that willingness and desire, drug me for the purpose of, in effect, having her way with me sexually? It didn't make any sense to me. On the other hand, and granted, maybe this was an immature way to look at the situation, wasn't it in some ways kind of a compliment? I mean, a beautiful woman gives me drugs so she can have sex with me? Most guys my age, at least at that time, were not likely to complain too loudly. Then again, wasn't it just... weird? ... And wrong? Shouldn't Suzette have known that I was crazy about her? Even in love with her? I knew I should have expressed my feelings to her, but I was too young, inexperienced, and afraid. I really had no idea if she had mutual feelings for me. Now, 28 years had passed, and I knew that, despite the fact that I hadn't thought about her for years, my feelings had never really changed, despite my marriage and my love for my wife -- that is, my ex-wife. I clicked on the link to her Facebook page, and her profile picture popped up on my monitor. Sure enough, there was Suzette, flanked by three incredibly beautiful young women in their early 20s -- her daughters, I would soon learn. Damn, she looked fine! Her brunette hair was a lot shorter and was streaked with blonde highlights. She still had those wide shoulders, but she appeared slimmer than she was in college, though her bust had clearly grown. Her face had certainly matured, but everything was still there: the cute chin, the soft lips, the statuesque nose, those piercing hazel eyes, and her wonderful complexion. I clicked through other pictures of her, alone and with her daughters, and I began reading the posts that accompanied them. Along with the other information she had posted about herself, I was able to piece together a pretty clear picture of what she had being doing since that bizarre night 28 years ago. She had graduated from the women's school in Texas with a Major in Fashion Marketing and a Minor in French (apparently, she spoke the language fluently). Then, she went on to earn an MBA from some school in Pennsylvania, and after graduating, she had gone to France, by herself, and had gotten a job working for some haute couture fashion house. There, she met and fell in love with a Frenchman by the name of Francois Lévêque. They soon married, and over the next five or six years, she gave birth to three daughters, each one more beautiful than the next. They spent a number of years somewhere on the French Riviera, before Suzette brought her young family back to the States. There they lived in a number of places on the East Coast. But after 10 years, her marriage to Francois began to fray, and a year later, she divorced him, changed her name back to Pearce, and moved herself and her daughters to Jacksonville, Florida, where she raised them by herself. Now, she was selling real estate in Jacksonville -- overpriced condominiums to retirees from New York. I was transfixed. I looked at those pictures over and over again. In one, she was wearing a red, satin kimono, bright red lipstick and a lot of makeup, dangling earrings and matching gloves, her hair up, standing in profile except for her head that was staring deeply into the camera. One of her arms was at her side, while the other one held one of those Oriental fans. She was posed in front of an Impressionistic still-life in an ornate frame, which hung above an elegant console table. The stereotype of that costume suggested docile subservience and chaste purity, but standing in profile as she was, the kimono could not conceal her ample bosom, and the whole effect screamed anything but innocence. But what really caught my eye was the look on her face. It was -- how should I put this? -- penetrating. Her eyes had an incisive effect; they bore into you as if to suggest that she knew things that no one else could ever know, which she wanted to unburden herself of, though only to one person in whom she could confide completely. I wondered why that picture had been taken. Was she at a costume or Halloween party? Was it some kind of a glamour shot? Who knew? What I did know was that it had a tremendous effect upon me. And because of it, I now had an inexorable desire to do two things. First, I wanted more than anything else to see Suzette and to find out once and for all if she had ever had any real feelings for me, and if she had, whether there was any possibility that she still held those same feelings. I saw no evidence, at least on Facebook, that at present there was any man in her life. In addition, my ex-wife and I had divorced three years ago, and since that time, I had had only a few relationships with women, none of which had lasted more than a few months at a time. We were both eligible divorcées. Why not? And the second thing? I wanted to find out if Suzette had put something in my beer all those years ago back in Springfield, and if she had, why. I realized that those two goals were at cross purposes to each other. I mean, if I was lucky enough to be able to see Suzette, and if I was even luckier and she did not hate me, as I suspected she did, and actually wanted to reconnect with me, didn't I risk it all by bringing up the past and trying to explain myself to her and apologize for my rash decision that night? And more significantly, wouldn't trying to find out, or even worse, bluntly asking her if she had put something in my beer, drugged me so that she could take sexual advantage of me, place an undue amount of stress upon that emotional house of cards, such that the whole thing would come crashing down? Still, all of this presupposed that I would even get a chance to see Suzette, and how was that going to happen? She was 2500 miles away. And then I remembered! I could see Suzette after all! I had forgotten that in three months I was scheduled to go to a tech conference in Orlando. The conference was scheduled to last for three days, but my boss was sending me there at his request and had insisted that I take some extra time to see the sites -- Disney World, Epcot Center, and all the rest -- and on his dime, no less! I had already booked my flight and was scheduled to be in Florida for a whole week. I really had no desire to go any of those places, but I figured that an extra four day vacation to a place that I had never before visited would be good for me. And then I considered the logistics. Jacksonville was only a two-hour drive from Orlando. I could spend the rest of the week there, near the ocean, which I preferred, before heading back to Orlando for my return flight. That gave me, I figured, four, maybe five days in which to see Suzette. That would work. I thought about how I might go about contacting her. I could instant message her through Facebook, but I decided that to do that now with months to go before I would see her would only give her more time to remember that fateful night, and in so doing, decide that she hated my guts and should definitely avoid me at all costs. My best bet might be to wait until I arrived in Florida and only give her a day or two advance notice. That seemed like the more prudent plan. But then self-doubt crept stealthily into my brain. Shit, that was 28 years ago! The overwhelming odds were that Suzette wouldn't even remember me, and if she did, that she would think me the creepiest guy in the world for trying to get in touch with her after so many years. Finally, I just thought to myself, "Fuck it! What do I have to lose?" If she does hate me, what's the worst she can do -- tell her friends what an asshole I am? They don't even know me, so who cares? And if by any chance, she is still in contact with any of the people that I knew so many years ago, I'm in California, thousands of miles away; I'll never see any of them again anyway. It was settled then. I was going to do it. Three months passed in the flash of an eye, and on a Sunday afternoon in May, I arrived in Orlando for the conference. It was ostensibly training for launching an online blog, and my boss wanted me to start one in conjunction with the articles that I was writing for the travel magazine for which I worked. The conference was pretty boring and not terribly informative. The only good thing about it was that there were an incredible number of really hot looking women in attendance. Just talking and visiting with some of them really got my blood boiling and made me that much more excited about the possibilities that I might just be able to see Suzette. On Tuesday, the night before the final day of the conference, I instant messaged Suzette through her Facebook page. My note to her went as follows: Dear Suzette, I don't know if you will even remember me, but we had some fun times together at EDSU in the late 70s. I stumbled across your 'Facebook' page when I was looking up Paul Anderson, who I know you are "friends" with, and found out that you're in Jacksonville now. I've been living in California for some time, but I am currently in Orlando for a conference which ends tomorrow at 4:00 p.m. After that, I planned to drive over to Jacksonville Beach. I am staying at the 'Four Points,' and I wondered if you might have any desire to meet me sometime for dinner or drinks. I would love to catch up. Message me back, if you have any interest in getting together. I'll be in FL until Sunday, and I would love to see you. Missing your smile, Jae Thomas I was pleasantly shocked when Suzette messaged me back within the hour. She wrote: Dear Jae, Are you crazy? Of course I remember you! How could I forget? Those parties you had at your place were the stuff of legends! I would absolutely love, love, love to see you! And you're staying in Jacksonville Beach? How did you know? I live just down the road from your hotel! How convenient! There is a little bistro less than a mile away from 'Four Points' that I like a lot. It's called 'Eleven South.' Why don't we meet there tomorrow at say 7:30 p.m.? That should give you plenty of time to make the drive from Orlando and to get yourself settled into your hotel. I am so excited about seeing you! If this doesn't work, message me back. Otherwise, I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at 7:30! I can't wait to get caught up! Love, Suzette My first reaction to her note was euphoria -- not only did she remember me, but she sounded genuinely interested in seeing me. My second reaction was to set about interpreting every possible nuance in what she had written. I was probably being overly optimistic, but I noticed that she had mentioned that she couldn't forget me, that she would "love, love, love" to see me and wanted to do so as soon as possible, and that she assumed that I had chosen to stay in Jacksonville Beach because I had found out that it was close to where she lived. I hadn't. I didn't know where she lived. Christ! I'm not a stalker. I just liked being close to the ocean, and that particular hotel was well within my company's per diem limit. One other thing about her note. Over the past three months, I had tried to tamp down my expectations of meeting Suzette, and I knew that in reality things almost always fall far short of what a person could conjure up in his or her mind, but I thought that it was so interesting that in her closing she used the word "Love." That seemed a really intimate thing to say to someone that you had not seen or even thought about for 28 years. Again, I felt like I could not help but to be hopeful. At 4:00 p.m. the next day, my rental car was already packed, gassed up, and ready to go. I hit the highway two minutes after the conference ended and made good time driving. I arrived at my hotel on the beach about 6:15 p.m. and got myself checked in. Then, I changed my clothes, put on a sports jacket, and decided that I would walk to Eleven South. It was less than a mile down the oceanfront, and I been sitting all day. Besides, it was a beautiful evening. I enjoyed the walk; it was especially pleasant knowing that I was about to see a beautiful woman that I really, really liked. I set off down 1st Street South, the road closest to the beach. There was a warm breeze blowing off the Atlantic, and I could smell, taste and feel the ocean. It's so much warmer and saltier than the Pacific, and it had a way of getting into your bones that made being near it so different from the West Coast. I lived only a few miles from the Pacific in California, but when you were close to the Atlantic, you knew you were close to it. Don't get me wrong, I love living on the California coast. Because the water is so much colder, we don't get the storms, especially the hurricanes that Florida does, and we don't have to suffer through the same heat and humidity. But for this short visit, the Atlantic's warmth beckoned, and I was really glad I had chosen to stay near the beach. When I reached Eleventh Avenue South, I turned right and walked one block west. After I crossed the street, Eleven South was just beyond the corner. It was a small, modern, single-story, sand-colored building. I opened the door and walked inside, and before the hostess even had a chance to greet me, I had already spotted Suzette sitting at a dimly lit table in the back of the small restaurant. I walked back to the table, but Suzette got up from her seat, ran to me before I reached it, and gave me a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Suzette! You look great!" I said. She did too. She was wearing a dark-colored business suit, white blouse, and a black, calf-length skirt with high heels. Her brunette hair was longer than it had been in the pictures on Facebook, even longer than it had been in college and accented with blonde highlights, but her beautiful face, bright hazel eyes, and lovely complexion were all still unchanged. Though she still had the wide shoulders of her youth, she was more delicate looking, with a slender waist and tan, toned legs. She had clearly taken care of herself. Even though her business suit, like the kimono in the Facebook picture, did its best to conceal them, I could tell that her breasts were considerably bigger than I remembered. After she broke our embrace, she smiled and said sincerely, "It's so good to see you, Jae. It's been too long." Then, she stood back, giving me a serious once-over gaze. "Let me take a look at you. I love the beard! It makes you look so distinguished!" I was wearing a sports jacket; a light-colored, patterned dress shirt, open at the collar; and a pair of jeans. I was glad that I had changed into the sports jacket because otherwise I would have been seriously underdressed next to Suzette. She must have read my mind, because at that very moment, she apologized for being dressed so formally, explaining that she had just shown a multi-million dollar beach home and was afraid that if she stopped to change, she would have been late. She didn't want me to have to wait. We sat down, and Suzette opened our conversation with a request, "So tell me what you've been doing for all these years." I launched into a tedious account of my life. I explained that after I graduated from EDSU, I began my teaching career, went on to graduate school, and then transitioned from teaching into school administration. I described how when I started teaching in the Twin Cities, I had met my wife and that after our courtship, we married and had two beautiful daughters that I loved dearly, both of whom were doing well and enrolled in graduate schools in California. Then I backtracked and explained that before the girls were even in elementary schools, I had been offered a job as a Principal of a high school in a small city on the California coast, and that we had been living there ever since. I explained that after our daughters had graduated from high school, my marriage to my wife had slowly started to unravel, and that we had divorced three and a half years ago. I described how I had become disillusioned with education, quit my job as a Principal, and had begun writing for a glossy travel/feature magazine. I mentioned that over the last few years, I had had two books published. Now, my boss had sent me to this tech conference, so I could start blogging articles about a wide variety of topics on behalf of the magazine, and that is what had brought me to Florida. Thankfully, the waiter arrived just in time, because I was afraid that I had bored Suzette to death with my pathetic life story. Suzette asked if I wanted to share a bottle of wine. I did. She asked if I liked Pinot Noir. I did; it was my favorite. A Beautiful Sea and a Beautiful Lad Then she proceeded to order a California Pinot from a winery just up the road from where I lived. She had picked a great vintage that was one of my favorite wines. I considered it an outstanding winery and had visited it numerous times for tastings. When the waiter delivered the bottle, I complimented her on her excellent taste. She reminded me that she had lived for quite a few years in France, and that she had become something of a connoisseur in her time there. I would soon learn this was not idle braggadocio. The waiter took our order and then left. We began sipping greedily from our glasses, so I used the pregnant pause to change the subject. "Enough about me. Tell me about your life -- your children, your... work," I said tiptoeing carefully. Suzette proceeded to relate most of what I had already gathered from cobbling together the bits and pieces of her Facebook page. I missed on some of the details, but by and large, I had most of the general information pretty well down. She didn't bring up her current romantic situation, and I knew that it was best if I left that alone for now. For that, I needed to be patient. Dinner was served, and it was exceptional. As we were finishing up our plates, Suzette looked at the bottle and poured the remainder of the Pinot into both of our nearly empty glasses. Then, she decided to tread where I had dared not go. "Are you seeing anyone now?" she asked with a world-weary sadness. I explained that I had dated a few different women since my wife and I had split, but that none of those relationships went anywhere. I mentioned that it had been four or five months since I had been out with anyone. Suzette asked if I wanted to share another bottle, and I told that it was really her up to her -- that I had walked over from the hotel, and so not having to drive, I was open to most anything. She laughed, "I walked over too! In fact, if you came straight down the beachfront on your way here, you went right past my building -- the Marbella." "Beautiful sea," I said. "I'll bet you have some great views of the ocean from there." "Si. ¿Tu hablas español?" "No," I answered, "I just live in California; it's hard to avoid it! I think I picked most of it up through osmosis," I joked. She laughed. She sat thinking for a moment, and then she stared deep into my eyes and said with great affection and sincerity, "J'aime parler avec toi." I remembered enough of my college French to understand her sentiments. "Hey, no fair changing languages on me!" I joked. "I can barely speak English!" Now it was my turn to peer deep into her hazel orbs. "I love to talk to you too, Suzette. I've really missed it." She smiled warmly and reached across the table to grasp my hand. I knew that we had advanced to another level. The waiter brought a second bottle of Pinot and poured us each a refill. Now, with a few glasses under her belt, Suzette began to open up about her marriage and personal life. Francois had been really good for her, she admitted. She had grown up as a wild child, and when she met him, what she needed more than anything else in her life was stability, structure, and tranquility. Francois supplied her with that. Francois had made a lot of money in the fashion industry, she mentioned, and she herself had done nearly as well. Neither she nor her daughters had ever wanted for much of anything. They led comfortable and at times even extravagant lives, living on the French Riviera near Nice. When they moved to America, the money came even more easily. But after her daughters began to grow up and entered school, and she had spent a few years pretending to be a soccer mom, she no longer needed a calm and stable presence in her life. What she craved instead was variety, eccentricity, and excitement, and those were luxuries that, despite his wealth, Francois simply could not offer her. They were not in his nature. When they split, Francois moved back to France. She had only seen him once since the divorce. At first, the girls, who had citizenship in France, went back to visit their father at least a couple times a year, but even then, only for a week or two at a time. As they grew up, the trips became less and less frequent and even shorter. None of them had seen their father at all in the last three years. So Suzette was left to play the role of both mother and father to her daughters. She threw herself into that completely, like she was tossing hay bales, saddles, and yearling cattle around the ranch. Between parenting and work, she had no time for men, much less love. But now her girls were all out of the house with their own romances blossoming. They simply weren't around much anymore -- Danielle, the oldest, had finished school, was working for a law firm in New York, and was engaged to be married; Elsa was in graduate school in North Carolina; and Colette, the baby, the only one who even lived in Florida any more, was a sophomore at the University of Miami, an eight or nine hour drive from Jacksonville. Now Suzette needed romance and love, someone with whom to share her life. She had dated a man for about a year, and she thought that relationship was promising. But about six months ago, he had broken it off with her and since that time, she had grown desperately lonely and sadly fatalistic. She had even considered visiting online dating sites and hanging around wine bars, but as of now, she still regarded each as "a bridge too far." "I find it hard to believe that you'd have trouble attracting a man. You've always been an incredible looker in my book. You're absolutely stunning, Suzette. And that's only the surface, you're also really intelligent, well-educated, and, I must say, unbelievably cultured. And more than all those things, you're kind and loving. Men ought to be falling all over themselves to be with you." She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. "You're too... sweet," she stammered, barely able to get the words out. "But...." And then, she started crying and couldn't speak at all. It took her a full minute to compose herself enough to finish her sentence, "... most men... aren't... like you." Then, she broke down sobbing uncontrollably for the next five minutes. A tiny part of me wanted to celebrate -- it seemed I really had a chance with Suzette -- she needed someone like me -- but that tiny kernel of joy was completely obliterated by her sadness, regret and resignation, though I didn't really understand yet their source. I was thoroughly in love with her again, and if she was hurting, my good fortune was hardly relevant. Finally, she used a tissue to dab her eyes, apologized for her emotions, and smiled at me wanly. We finished the last of the wine, and I picked up the tab for dinner. Suzette argued with me, or tried to; after her emotional breakdown, she was pretty much worn-out. She insisted that I was her guest, and that she should pay -- that I had come all the way across the country, and.... It didn't take long before she relented, but only if I agreed to go back to her place for another bottle of wine. I certainly wasn't about to argue. We walked out of the front door of Eleven South hand-in-hand into the warm, salty air. Before we had even crossed 1st Street South, Suzette had put her arm around my waist and her head on my shoulder. We continued to walk east until we reached the sand. A bright, nearly full moon shone in the southeastern sky. When I saw the Atlantic stretched out in front of us, glittering in the moonlight, I pulled Suzette's face to mine, and I whispered, "Un bello mar y una bella dama." Then, I kissed her on those soft, sensual lips, and she kissed me back with great passion. After a long minute, our lips parted, and Suzette looked up at me with tears in her eyes again, but now they were tears of joy and happiness. Then, she laughed and removed her high heels. Taking her lead, I took off my shoes, and with each of us carrying our own footwear, we walked with our arms around each other across the warm sand until we reached the ocean. There, we turned north, strolling in the wet sand only a few feet away from where the Atlantic made landfall. It was only a few hundred yards to the Marbella. When we entered the lobby, I realized that these were ultra-luxurious condominiums, and I started to put a few things Suzette had said together. We laughed as we brushed the sand from our feet, and then we took the elevator up to the top of the building, the 12th floor. When she unlocked the door to her massive condo, I was stunned. Her place was more extravagant than I could ever have imagined "Jesus, Suzette. It's magnificent," I stammered. The entire east wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded stunning ocean views from every room. A patio ran the length of the windows and featured neo-classical sculpture and tropical vegetation surrounding a current pool that was dropped in the middle. It sported Moroccan tiles throughout the kitchen and baths; Travertine, and Sakura wood floors; enough recessed lighting, chandeliers, and decorative sconces to fill a 10,000 square foot mansion; original artworks in decorative frames throughout; and a Malaysian Mahogany wine cellar, stocked with the most extensive and thorough collection I had ever seen. We entered a stunning great room, filled with lush sectionals. It was the only room in the condo that was carpeted, an off-white plush pile seemingly about four inches thick. On the wall behind a Steinway grand piano, I spotted the Impressionist still-life that I had seen on Facebook, an original Cézanne, hanging above a gold-leaf topped console table. We sat down on one of the sofas, and Suzette adjusted the lighting, like she was directing a Broadway play, setting a romantic and amorous mood. She was smiling. Her tears seemed a world away. As I stood admiring the view of the ocean, she left the room momentarily, before returning from the wine cellar with two crystal glasses and an open bottle of Mourvèdre Châteauneuf-du-Pape. She poured us each a glass, and we sat down on the sofa. We each took a sip of our wine, and for a moment neither one of us said or did anything. We were just getting used to the reality of having found each other after such a long time. Then, Suzette leaned over and gave me a quick but significant kiss. Then, just as quickly, she excused herself, and rising from the sofa, set her glass down on the end table and said, "I'm sorry, Jae, but I've got to get this suit off me before I go insane. You make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back." I took off my jacket, and laid it down on another of the sectionals. Then, I sat down again, savoring the view and that incredibly complex Mourvèdre. When Suzette returned, any doubts that I had about where this evening might be leading were instantly dispelled. She sauntered toward me, wearing a purple satin and lace robe, fishnet stockings, and these incredibly elaborate strapped, black stiletto heels. She slithered down next to me on the sofa, and holding her robe closed with one hand, she purred, "I have been waiting a long, long time for this, Jae." She reached for her glass and took a long sip of her Mourvèdre, and then she released the grip on her robe and put her hand on my leg. When she did, the robe fell open revealing the sexiest lingerie I think I had ever seen. She was wearing a black, leather bustier which supported the underside of her big breasts, but left them completely exposed, their round areolas framing her erect nipples. It had straps that went over her shoulders and laces that ran up the middle, exposing about three inches of her toned stomach. She was also wearing a tiny, black, lace thong and superfluous lace garters, that connected her bustier to black, fishnet stockings that stretched from her strapped heels to halfway up her sexy thighs, where the fishnet gave way to lace hold ups. I began to get hard. "Oh my god, Suzette! You look amazing!" I marveled. Then, stupidly I broached a subject I should have left alone forever, "I have to admit, after the last time I saw you I thought you never wanted to see me again. Do you remember that night in Springfield?" "You mean when you came in my mouth," Suzette said bluntly. "I'm sorry. I've always felt badly about that night, but there was something wrong, really wrong with me. I still don't know what happened to me that night." "I know." Suzette confessed, almost in a whisper. She grimaced. "That was me. I'm the one. Please don't apologize when I haven't even had a chance to tell you how badly I feel, have felt for all these years. I am so, so, so sorry, Jae. I hope you believe me when I tell you that I have spent most of my life regretting that night. A lot of Confessions -- Hail Marys and Our Fathers, but they never seemed to lessen the guilt. When I saw what those drops did to you, I couldn't believe it. I felt so sad and so ashamed. My god, you could barely move." She resisted the urge to start crying again, but now I understood her sadness and tears. "Suffice to say, that was not my finest hour," she concluded. I was stunned. She really had done it. "But why?" I asked. It didn't make any sense. "I know this isn't going to make any sense to you," she said, again reading my mind. "It's going to sound like an excuse, and it's not an excuse, but I'd been chasing you for such a long time, Jae. You had to know that. I wasn't used to having to work so hard to get someone to come on to me. Usually I just found some guy, flirted for a little bit, gave him a quick blowjob, and let him cum on my face. They seemed to like it. I thought you would too, but with you I wanted so much more. For some reason, there was always some kind of roadblock to us being together. I know it sounds crazy, even stupid, but in my immaturity, I thought that was the only way to be with you." "But, Suzette, I was crazy about you! I would have made love to you at the drop of a hat. How could you not have known that? I was just trying to be... I don't know... discreet. I knew that I wasn't very experienced. I figured that things had to be perfect, or I would fuck it up. I liked you too much to allow that. I'm pretty sure that it would have happened sooner or later anyway, but I wanted to get it right. I figured I owed you that." "But it wouldn't have happened sooner or later, Jae! I tried to make it happen for almost a year. That was 28 years ago, and I never saw you again after that. I figured that night; it was now or never." I was confused. "You mean you knew you were leaving? That you were transferring to the school in Texas? That we'd never see each other again? Once you got to Texas why didn't you write to me or call me to tell me how you felt?" "I didn't know for sure, but I sensed it. You didn't know my father, but I drove him crazy. He thought I was too wild, especially with boys. Of course, I was wild! He made me that way! When I got home after that spring semester, he told me I would be going to that school in Texas. I didn't want to, but I didn't have a choice. I screamed and yelled and cried, but what could I do? He was paying. He'd researched the whole thing! A conservative women's college, and in Texas, my god! That whole first semester I cried every night. I felt so bad about what I had done to you. I really, really liked you. But I was so embarrassed and ashamed, how could I tell you the truth about what I'd done? I just figured you never wanted to see me again." "Suzette, if I had known that you cared about me at all, even the slightest bit, had even one iota of interest in me, I would have jumped on the next plane to Texas or Florida or Timbuktu." She paused for a moment and tried to soak in what I had just said. And then she said with a devious smile, "Well, you're in Florida now!" And with that, she unbuckled my belt, unzipped my jeans, reached her hand inside my shorts, and pulled out my now erect penis. Grasping my cock around the base with her hand, she looked me in the eyes, and with another devilish grin, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, revealing a silver stud piercing! Then, she growled, "Tonight, I'm going to do this the right way," and as she did, she dropped her head to my erection. First, she used her flat tongue to run that pierced stud up the backside of my cock, from the base all the way up to that sensitive triangle -- the frenulum of my crown. Then, she wrapped her soft lips over my head, and moving them ever so slightly up and down, she concentrated her vigorous sucking on my crown. At the same time, she used her tongue and that stud to lick the top of my glans. After a few minutes using just her mouth and tongue, Suzette began employing her hand to stroke my entire length, while she kept up her sucking at the same time. I was groaning with pleasure, but now she changed things up. Suddenly, she took me all the way into her throat for four or five strokes, then went back to her ferocious sucking, before reintroducing the hand action, finally she went back to deep throating me again. This was a carefully orchestrated routine. She continued that routine for five more minutes, until I was fast approaching a familiar outcome. Not that again! I had to stop her. I pulled her head from my engorged dick and got to my feet. I stepped out of my jeans and shorts, took off my shirt, and stood before her unabashedly, my dick, dripping with her saliva and pointing like a compass toward the vast Atlantic. I pushed Suzette back onto the sofa, lifted her legs and spread them wide. Then, I dropped to my knees. I kissed, licked and nibbled at her breasts before working my way down her stomach, exposed by the laces that tied the two sides of her bustier together. I continued my kissing, licking, and biting around her thighs, butt, and pubic mound, which was now hidden by her lacy thong. I wanted to see her pussy, so I pulled her thong to the side. Sensing my desire, Suzette reached her hand to her mound and used two fingers to open herself up to me. Then, an incredible thing happened; her wet hole began to spread open -- blooming in front of my eyes, like a rose covered in morning dew. Now it was my turn. I started by running the tip of my tongue as slowly as is humanly possible all the way from the bottom of her flower until it reached her clit hood. I could have been content to keep going, but suddenly I wanted it all -- to see everything, all of her. So I pushed her thighs together, reached around Suzette's slim hips, and pulled that thong down her toned legs. Before I tossed it to the carpet, I held it momentarily under my nose and breathed in her sex -- an unbelievably erotic aroma that beggared description. Then, I spread her legs open again, and pushed the backs of her thighs down astride her big tits until those sexy stilettos were pointing skyward. Suzette was breathing faster now and moaning softly. I made a pledge to myself that I would not get off my knees until she "got off." Tonight, she would cum first! I could see everything now, and the view kept my dick rock hard: her prominent lips oozed sweet juices, an engorged pink button peeked out of her long, slender clit hood. Above it, her mound featured a beautiful, dark tiny bush meticulously trimmed to just above her vulva. She was waxed clean everywhere else. Again, I breathed on, licked, kissed, and gently bit her inner thighs, those tight asscheeks, and finally her sexy mound. Then, I went back to that gushing hole, licking, as I had before, from the bottom to the top with the tip, followed by the broad, flat surface of my tongue. After a couple of minutes, I pulled my right hand from the back of Suzette's thigh and slid it to her sexy mound. Using my thumb, I began tracing circles around the edge of her clit hood, careful not to touch her sensitive nub directly. I would save that for later. She was writhing and arching her back now, and I knew she was getting close. A Beautiful Sea and a Beautiful Lad Then, I moved my hand again, this time to Suzette's seething pussy. First, I spread her lips wide with my index fingers. Then, using just my right hand, I began probing her with one, then two, and finally three fingers at the same time. When I pulled them from her, her juices dripped from my fingers. Now, I was ready to attack her clit. I wrapped my lips around her hood, and began sucking her into my mouth. At the same time, I used the tip of my tongue to flick back and forth over her now completely exposed knob. She was going crazy, screaming and bucking wildly, while I kept up my attack, "Oh my god, I'm cumming, I'm cumming," she wailed. Then, she grabbed the back of my head and pulled me into her and began grinding uncontrollably on my face. I had forgotten how strong she was! Her climax had her shaking so violently that I thought she might fall off the sofa. When her spasm subsided and she finally released her grip on me, I pulled my face from her sex. Most of my face was drenched with her juices. I stood up and lean over to kiss her soft lips and whispered "Now we're even." She didn't get the joke; she was too overcome with her orgasm to respond. She lay there in a daze, whimpering in ecstasy. But I wasn't done. Now, I pulled her hips off the sofa and dragged her to the carpeted floor. There I knelt between her legs and bent them at the knees, so that those sexy heels were flat on the floor and her fine ass was raised up and level with my throbbing member. She looked up at me with incomprehension. First, I rubbed the head of my cock up and down her wet slit. Then, I placed my glans inside her gaping lips and pulled her hips toward me, entering her with a slow, deliberate stroke. She moaned sensually, and I took that sound as approbation. I continued pushing my way in and out, and she began to match my rhythm with the movement of her hips. But I wanted to go deeper. So I leaned into her, and placed my hands on the carpet, astride her beautiful face. I lifted her legs one at a time, spreading her wide open so that the backs of her thighs rested on my upper arms. Suzette moved her hands to the sides of my hips, and I arched them forward until I was in to the hilt. I could see everything now. My stiff erection parting her wet labia until it disappeared, as my pubic bone made contact with her clit; a mixture of juices and saliva coating our genitalia; her big breasts, heaving as I pounded in and out of her, her nipples erect and protruding a good half inch from the center of her wide, round areolas; and her beautiful face, painted with an expression that was one part sated grin and one part tortured grimace. I increased my rhythm, and she was moaning much more loudly and chanting almost religiously, "Oh my god, you are so deep! Oh my god, oh my god, it's so deep. Oh my god, oh my...," She was unable to get the last word out, but I wanted to do her one better, I knew I could go even deeper. So I transitioned into my favorite variation. First, I slid my hands a few inches toward me, across the carpet until my wrists were brushing the sides of her big tits. Then, with just the tip of my engorged dick still inside her, I lifted my knees off the plush pile, so that I was supporting myself entirely on my hands and bent toes, and I started plunging into Suzette's gushing pussy. At first my pace was frantic. I wanted her to cum again, before I did. But I knew I couldn't last if I kept up that pace. So I slowed my rhythm, using long, quick, but intermittent jabs, eliciting a new flurry of moaning and writhing from Suzette. Again, she read my mind; she knew we were both close, and she wanted us to cum together. So she moved both of her hands from my hips and slid them sensually down my chest and stomach until they reached her seething cauldron. Then, using her middle fingers from each hand, she spread her lips as wide as she could, while at the same time, her right index finger began to caress her exposed clitoris. She was right on the edge now. Her breathing was ragged, and deep, guttural sounds were escaping her throat, but I didn't know if I would last; I was nearly spent. I continued with 15 or 20 more thrusts, and then, Suzette released her hold on her pussy lips, and sliding them downward, grasped me with both hands around the base of my scrotum and began screaming encouragement, "Oh, fucking cum for me baby! Give me your huge load! I can feel it in here; I can feel it surging in your balls! Shoot it all over me!" Ironically, her words sent her over the edge. She arched her back again, closed her eyes, and another orgasm started washing over her. "Oh, yes, yes, yes. Oh, my god, yes." Involuntary spasms were shaking her whole frame. Suzette opened her eyes, and with the most sensual expression of gratification on her face, she stared deeply into me. That look brought me to the point of no return. This time, I announced my intentions, "I'm cumming," I grunted. And I dropped to my knees and without touching it, withdrew my cock from her effervescent chasm. Suzette let released my scrotum with her right hand, while her left continued to knead my loose balls, and grasping my pulsing member tightly, began frantically jacking me off. Rope after rope of cum exploded all over her torso, coating her leather bustier and the area of her stomach exposed by its laces. My most powerful jets splashed her breasts and neck. My orgasm lasted for at least 20 seconds. I was physically spent. Gasping for air, I fell to the floor next to her desecrated body. For a few moments, neither one of us could speak. Then, after I had caught my breath again, I rolled on my side and drew her face to my lips. She kissed me back with tremendous passion. I could still barely speak, but now Suzette was animated, and the ranch girl of her youth had returned. "Oh, my god, Jae! How did I ever let you get away? Where did you learn to fuck like that? Not very experienced, my ass. I have never cum so hard. My god, baby, that was amazing!" Then, she sensed that her enthusiasm was too crude, coarse and unladylike and that I was somehow offended. I wasn't, but there was some unfinished business that I needed to take care of. "Oh, honey, what's wrong? Tell me." "I'm sorry I ruin your bustier," I apologized evasively. I realized it sounded idiotic, but I was so in love with her now that I was afraid to bring up that night again. She started laughing hysterically. She couldn't stop for the longest time. When she finally did, she said, "First, I was the one manning the cannon, not you! Second, you didn't ruin it, its faux leather. As soon as I wipe your cum off it, it will be fine! Third, I have plenty more where that came from. And lastly, if you keep fucking me like that, you can rip, tear, and shred my lingerie for all I care." I didn't say anything, and she realized again that this was not the moment for ribald humor -- that I wanted to say something. "I'm sorry, Jae. What's wrong? Please, tell me." "I'm really sorry about how I treated you that night in Springfield. I'm ashamed of myself. I have been for almost 30 years. I abandoned you at the worst possible moment, and then I never got to explain myself or apologize to you. That wasn't very gentlemanly of me. I'm sorry, Suzette." Suzette was transformed again. "Oh, Jae! Please don't apologize to me; it makes me feel even worse about what I did to you. I still haven't even come close to explaining myself. It's so hard to put into words. I... I... I don't... I know it doesn't make any sense, but I want you to understand, even though I know that you'll probably never forgive me. I wouldn't blame you if that's the case. I can't forgive myself. I don't know that I can ever make it up to you." "I think you just did." "No, no no! I really, really, really want you to understand, even though I know it sounds hypocritical -- good, little Catholic girl and all but...," she broke off and paused, deciding on a different approach. "Do you remember me saying that I gave all those guys blowjobs?" "Yes." "When I was in school I collected boys like they were scalps that I could hang from my belt. None of them meant anything. I was just like all of them, doing essentially the same thing that they were doing -- trying to bag as many chicks as they could so that each one could try to prove that his list and his dick were bigger than the next guy's." "For me, it was all about rebellion; I was getting back at my parents, especially my father. But please know that I'm telling you the truth now. I never had intercourse with any of those guys. I was a virgin, Jae, at least in the literal sense of the word -- a good, little, Catholic virgin. And here's why. In my immature and messed up mind, I was saving that, saving it for somebody that I really, really liked. And I really, really liked you." She paused again. "All those guys were assholes, and I was just a piece of ass to them. But you! You were different. You were sweet, kind of innocent -- a good little Catholic boy, just like my parents wanted me to date! I knew you wanted me, but you were so shy, too afraid to make a move. And there always seemed to be some roadblock to you getting me to the bedroom, that it made it even worse. Like that room of yours! And that stupid curtain you had hanging up!" "It was pretty stupid, wasn't it?" We both laughed. "I just figured it was going to be up to me to initiate things. I wanted to spend the whole night making love to you, not fucking, but making love. I knew that you would be sweet and kind, and that it would be good. I figured if I could get you to make love to me, you'd commit yourself." "Then, came that night, the night you invited me to go to that party in Springfield, and you told me that we would have a bedroom to sleep in -- I thought that was my chance. I had no idea that those drops were so strong. After I put them in your drink, I tried to get you go to that bedroom with me, but you couldn't even move, I felt so bad then, because I knew that I had messed the whole thing up. Do you know that I spent that whole night lying on top of you, kissing you and crying because I knew I had fucked up my one chance with you? Then, when morning came, I decided to give it one last shot." "You sure did," I said. "No, no, no! That's not what I wanted. I wanted it to be romantic. Instead, I just felt so sleazy -- it made it even worse. I know you thought I was disappointed in you. I wasn't. I was disappointed in myself. Disgusted by myself. Ashamed. That's why I didn't talk to you that morning. That's why I didn't come to see you those last two weeks. That's why I never said goodbye. And I was sure you hated me!" "Hated you! Suzette, I was in love with you." I was incredulous. "I've been in love with you ever since." She started crying and couldn't stop again. I wrapped both of my arms around her and held her as tightly as I could, until her sobs slowly abated. When she spoke again, she posed a question. "Do you know why I married Francois?" "No." "Because he reminded me of you! He said the same kind of sweet things that you did. Maybe not as poetically as you, but sweet and kind, just the same. And in French! I don't know why, but when a man speaks to me in a foreign language, I get so turned on! You know, when you messaged me yesterday, I was so excited. I really wanted to see you, but I didn't think that we could be together. I thought I had ruined things forever." "I tried to promise myself that I wouldn't seduce you, even though I was so horny and so lonely that I was ready to go insane. I tried to promise myself that I wouldn't sleep with you even if you wanted to. I thought that if we did, it would only make things worse, and I wanted to fix things as best I could. I figured in the long run that having sex would hurt you, and you have to know, I didn't want to hurt you. I knew I'd already done that." "But then! Then tonight you said something to me so sweet, so tender, so romantic that I had to have you!" "What was that? I don't remember." "Really? You seriously don't remember?" she was incredulous. "I said a lot of things, most of them probably pretty stupid," I admitted. "You see! That's why I love you. You're so sweet that you don't even know that you're being sweet! Don't you remember when we got to the beach, and you whispered to me, "a beautiful sea and a beautiful lady? And in Spanish, no less! You had me right then and there. And do you know why? Because I knew that you were in love with me, deeply in love with me. You couldn't have said that unless you were." "You're right I am; I really am -- completely, totally, head over heels in love. I have been for a long, long time." She smiled and kissed me again. "When you said that, I knew you loved me, and I knew we could be together. I knew that we had a future, and if we had a future, I couldn't hurt you. Then, I wanted to take you right there on the sand in the moonlight. But I'm glad we came back here." "So am I. It's an incredible place!" "It's a fucking lonely place!" Suzette said emphatically. "This is probably the only good night I've spent in it since I've been here. Oh, I guess it was alright when my daughters were with me. I bought it because I thought it was romantic. It reminded me of the French Riviera, when I was first in love with Francois. But since my daughters left, it's just become something big and cold and empty. Until tonight! It's like seeing it again for the first time." She turned and looked out over the ocean, and smiled so beautifully, so beatifically that I was a goner; I knew I could never leave her. "Suzette, you are incredibly beautiful," I said. "I wasn't just saying that." "I know you weren't," she responded. "Because everything you say is sincere. That's another reason I love you. That's why I've always loved you." I took her face in my hands and brought her lips to mine, and kissed her passionately. She responded with sensual French kisses. We stayed locked together for at least five minutes. When we finally broke our embrace, I put an abrupt end to our romance with one of my grandest non sequiturs. "Hey, can we finish that wine?" I asked. That was some fine shit!" She laughed and laughed, and then said, "Okay, you pour us another glass, and I'm going to wipe your cum off me. And when I get back, I don't want to find you in another room! You understand me?" "Oh, I'm not going anywhere," I said. "Wild horses couldn't drag me away." And with that, she got up, grabbed her satin robe, and disappeared into her bedroom. I got up, slipped my shorts, jeans and shirt back on, and poured us each another glass of Mourvèdre. I was sitting back on the sofa, sipping my wine when Suzette came back into the room. She was wearing the satin and lace robe again, this time not bothering to conceal a different sexy outfit underneath. She sat down next to me on the sectional, and I handed her a glass of wine. We each drank happily, satisfied. Then, I leaned over and kissed her again. Suzette asked me if I wanted to move to the patio. It was a silly question. I would have followed her anywhere. So we sat there drinking the bottle of Mourvèdre, staring out at the Atlantic while it shimmered in the moonlight. We reminisced about people that we used to know and things that we had done together all those years ago. We never spoke another word about that night in Springfield. That was the past, and now we both knew that we had a future -- together. We finished that bottle, and another, and then we retreated to Suzette's bedroom, pleasantly high on wine and each other. We made love all night long. The next morning, I checked out of the Four Points and returned my rental car. I spent the rest of the week at Suzette's magnificent apartment. On Sunday, she drove me back to Orlando for my return flight. Getting on that plane was probably the hardest thing that I've ever had to do. Three weeks later, I flew back to Florida. I've been here ever since. That was two years ago. Now I write for another glossy mag -- this one in Florida. As I type these words, I am staring out over the sparkling and measureless Atlantic, while I watch Suzette sunbathe her beautiful breasts on the patio next to the current pool. I've decided there are two things that I really like about Florida -- a beautiful sea and beautiful lady -- and this time, I'm not leaving.