3 comments/ 30317 views/ 5 favorites My Old Hometown By: jack_straw I felt the butterflies as I crested the old familiar hill and saw Elmwood spread out across the prairie. I was still several miles away from my exit on the interstate, but in this part of the country you can see a long way, especially from a high vantage point. For the most part, it was just as I had remembered it. There was the chemical plant on the south end of town where my father had worked for 15 years, the old water tower on the east side and the old courthouse that dominated the center of town. But there had been some changes, especially on the north side, which was the direction I was coming from, and I gave a little snort that was my way of expressing grudging approval. A fairly large manufacturing plant had opened on the north side, bringing with it some accompanying businesses and some new subdivisions, filling up what had been corn fields when I'd lived there many years ago. Soon, the exit approached and I slowed as I drove the rental car onto the ramp and turned left onto Main Street. About the first thing I saw as I proceeded south on Main was the high school, and I smiled, but it was a wistful smile. Elmwood High held so many memories, good and bad, and the bad memories had been the reason I'd stayed away all these years. But a few years earlier, my mom forwarded me a letter from a company that was putting together a directory of all the graduates from Elmwood High. I had decided to fill out the form to finally let my old hometown in on where I was and what I was doing. That, in turn, had led to the invitation to attend my 20-year class reunion. I'm not sure why I decided to come back for the reunion. I guess one reason was that Keith Simmons had said he was going, and I never miss a chance to see my oldest and best friend. And I was curious to see how some people had changed, and how others had stayed the same. I wondered, too, how the people in my class would look at me. Would they even remember me? I wasn't sure. After all, it had been 16 years since I had been to Elmwood. My motel was on the west side of town, which afforded me the chance to drive through the heart of the town and see what I could see. For one thing, they had really spruced up downtown, added some art galleries, restaurants and new retail businesses. The town seemed to be thriving, which was a far cry from the way it had been when I left. When my dad took an offer from a company closer to the town in the Deep South where he'd been raised, we shook off the dust of the High Plains and left Elmwood behind. My folks have been back a couple of times, but I had no desire to return – until now. I checked in to my room and changed from my traveling clothes into something a little more comfortable. I had flown from Atlanta to the nearest large city, three hours from Elmwood, and had rented a car. I wanted to see the old familiar countryside, rather than flying to the smaller city that is only an hour from Elmwood. It was still light out as I headed out to find a good steak and then maybe a club, or some place where I might have a few beers and see what was up. The reunion wasn't scheduled to start until Friday, but I wanted to come a couple of days early, slip into town and test the waters, so to speak. I did have a few old friends I wanted to look up quietly before the events of the reunion overtook me. I stopped by the motel's front office and asked the desk clerk, a lady of about 45, about steak houses and drinking establishments, and she gave me a few leads. The steak house she recommended in the downtown area proved to be rewarding. I had a reasonably priced porterhouse – medium rare, of course – that practically melted in my mouth. One thing they do better on the Plains than any place on earth is produce the best meat to be found. There's just something about range-fed beef that sets it apart from any other type. Suitably nourished, I decided to check out the bar the desk clerk had told me about, the High Plains Drifter, which was just down the block from the restaurant. I half expected a cowboy bar, but as I approached the entrance, I heard the Stones blaring from a stereo inside and I saw a couple of choppers parked by the curb. I smiled at that, because I figured that the Drifter was my kind of club, a little rowdy, but not too rough. I was right. The bar was done up in a Western motif, with rough-plank walls and a wood floor. But it was more hippie Western than cowboy Western, with hubcaps, old car tags and old-timey posters nailed to the walls. And, of course, they had the Stones going on the sound system – and not just any Stones album, either – but Exile On Main Street, the gold standard that Mick Jagger and Keith Richards never matched, before or since. The place was about half-full, but it was still early on a Wednesday, so I guessed that the place did a pretty good business, good enough, I noticed, to have a stage for live music on weekends. I found a seat at the bar and tried to catch the attention of the woman who was bartending. When she turned around to acknowledge me and take my order, something clicked in my brain. I knew her, but from where? Then a slow smile creased my face and a tingle ran down to my dick. I sure did know her. Angie Martin, from drama class my sophomore year at Elmwood High. "What can I get you?" she asked. "Ah, um, Shiner Bock, if you've got it," I answered. "Sure do," Angie said. It was obvious she didn't recognize me, and it made me wonder. Had I changed that much? I didn't think I had, but I guess when you're out of sight for 16 years, you're out of mind also. And I had put on some weight. I was quite a bit more muscular than I had been when I was a skinny distance runner for the Elmwood Panthers. I had contact lenses now, and my hair was longish and shot through with silver. Angie brought me my beer, and I took a long pull off the longneck, and as I did, I studied Angie. She hadn't changed a bit, except that she had added just enough weight to fill out what had been a very slender frame. She had on a tight T-shirt and tight jeans, and they hugged curves that were to die for. She'd never been busty, but I'd always loved her little A-cups. She'd had long dark hair in high school, and she'd been almost skinny in high school, but that hadn't stopped guys from flocking around her, because the word was she put out. I sometimes heard the word nympho whispered when her name was mentioned. She still had the same dark hair, although it was cut much, much shorter than it had been, fashionably short. She still had the sparkling eyes, the same sensual mouth, although I did notice that there were some lines right at the corners of her eyes, like she'd had some hard times in her life. But she was still a breathtaking beauty, and my mind drifted back to high school, where the whispers of memories spoke to me. Angie had actually been a year ahead of me in school, but she'd taken drama as a junior, the same year I had. The class was actually mostly juniors and seniors, so I felt quite privileged to be brought into the little drama clique that came together that year. Of the group that was maybe a dozen or so, the only sophomores were me, Ron White and Tommy Sampson. And as I thought about Tommy, my eyes misted, as they always did. Tommy and I had been like brothers, as close as two guys can be and still be heterosexual. Tommy and I hung out together all the time, and we did everything together – drank beer, smoked dope and chased women. For some reason, though, I'd never been able to score with the girls. I guess I was just too shy, or maybe I was too interested in getting high to get serious about women. Besides the three of us sophomores, there was Rawley Nelson, the only black in the class and flagrantly gay; Randy Winters, the hipster who could always be counted on to have the best weed; Tracy Peeler, a slender blonde who could drink anyone under the table; Lisa Redmond, a tall, painfully insecure redhead; Ron Singleton, a senior who was short and dramatic, and who was rumored to be in love with Rawley; Steve Copley, another senior, who was dark and moody, and who was rumored to be bopping the drama teacher (who was young, single and very sexy); Marty Hill, a junior who was quite intense, but possessed of a wickedly black sense of humor; and there was Angie, the girl all the straight guys wanted to fuck, and a lot of them did. If ever there was a bigger bunch of outcasts and misfits, it was this crowd, but we didn't care. We liked being different, and we all got in the plays, either acting or on the tech crew. I really believe I came of age with this group. When I got to the high school as a sophomore, I was quite shy and desperate for some place to fit in. I wasn't coordinated enough to play any of the team sports, and running track didn't get you into the jockocracy at Elmwood, unless you were really good, and I wasn't. But I was very smart, very well read and I had what I believed to be good taste in music. And the juniors and seniors in the drama group accepted me unconditionally. Of course, my parents didn't always think too highly of this group, especially when I would come home drunk, but they were the people with whom I fit in. Most of the group stayed intact through the next school year, and I still count those two years as two of the best years of my life. But as my senior year started, the most of the old gang was gone. I was still friendly with Keith, my boyhood buddy, but he wasn't in the drama crowd, and we seemed to be drifting apart. Otherwise, I didn't have a lot of close friends in my class, and then one awful night, I lost the one truly close friend I did have. Tommy Sampson went out one Saturday night in early December with a younger guy he knew from his neighborhood, I guess to scare up some women in the town nearest Elmwood, where the girls were rumored to be easy. I didn't go, because I was working on a paper for English that was due the following Monday, and my folks were going out to dinner and needed me to sit with my younger siblings. No one really knows what exactly happened, whether Tommy was drunk (maybe), high (most definitely) or what, but all I know was that I was awakened at 4 o'clock in the morning by my mother, who said I had a phone call from a female. It was Lisa Redmond, and she was practically in hysterics. Through her sobs I managed to get the news that Tommy had been killed in a car crash. So much for my senior year of high school. There hasn't been a day go by that I don't think about Tommy and what happened. It took years, but I finally I quit beating myself up emotionally over the fact that I wasn't there. Would I have been in the car with him and severely injured the way the other guy was? Or would we have done something else and not been in the place where he wrecked? It was a pointless exercise in what-ifs, but for a long time I carried that guilt around, and it fueled some pretty reckless behavior on my part. I just didn't care about anything. I just went through the motions the rest of the school year, content to get through my classes with Bs and Cs, instead of As and Bs. I fell for Elise Tucker, a neurotic girl in the class, whom I thought I was in love with. She actually did get me through that period, and taught me about sex. But when I wasn't out with her, I was out drinking and smoking pot with either Keith Simmons or Ron White, the only two people I was close to in the class besides Elise. Keith and I had rekindled our friendship, and we've been close ever since. Elise wanted me to marry her and set up house there in Elmwood, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I went off to the state university, and by the end of the semester, she'd found some new redneck boyfriend. I thought I was heartbroken, but that was probably the best thing that she could have done for me, although for awhile it didn't seem like it. I spent four years at State changing majors, cutting classes, doing just enough to keep a halfway decent grade-point average, and smoking a lot of pot, drinking a lot of beer and doing a lot of drugs. It wasn't until my folks moved from Elmwood, and I suddenly had to pay for my own college, that I got serious about higher education. I transferred to a school closer to my folks' new home, got a part-time job, buckled down in class, cut way back on the drugs and drinking, got a degree in English education and found a job as a high school English teacher. I had never married, although I'd had several relationships that had been promising, and I was beginning to wonder if I was destined to live life as a bachelor. Suddenly, my reverie was shattered by a voice who used a name I hadn't heard in years. "Doolin-Dalton, that's who you are," Angie Martin said. I turned and gave Angie my best come-on smile. "I didn't think you remembered me, Angie Baby," I said. "Well, it took me a second when you first came in," Angie said. "But I never forget a good-looking guy like you, and I for sure wouldn't forget you, Doolin-Dalton. How have you been?" We all had our own little nicknames, usually, but not always, based on our names. I'm Dalton, Dalton Collins, so naturally, I became Doolin-Dalton, after the song from the Eagles' Desperado album. And Angie was Angie Baby, for some reason I can't recall. We hugged over the bar, and started getting caught up on old times. She introduced me to the manager, who was also working the bar, and also to a few of the regulars. When I got a chance, I asked about some of the old gang, and the news was decidedly mixed. Rawley Nelson had died of AIDS, Randy Winters had been killed in a motorcycle accident, and, saddest of all, Lisa Redmond had committed suicide. Angie told me Sad Lisa weighed 350 pounds when she took an overdose of sleeping pills a few years earlier. But the news wasn't all bleak. Ron Singleton was doing well in California, getting steady work in commercials and in a few TV gigs. Marty Hill was an architect in Pennsylvania, and Steve Copley was – of all things – a lawyer, although his practice was with the state as a public defender. As I suspected, life hadn't treated Angie all that well. She'd been married and divorced twice, and had gone through a number of other failed relationships. She also had a 14-year-old son living in Colorado with her first husband. Angie herself had tried countless times to leave Elmwood, but she always kept coming back. It was home to her, plus she now had to tend to her father, who was in a local nursing home with Alzheimer's. "You know, sometimes I wonder, 'Is this all there is to life?'" she said a trifle wearily. "Just a constant battle to get by?" "Look, Angie," I said, trying to be philosophical. "You can do nothing about the past. It's gone. You just have to live each day like it's your last, because it could be. You know, I've never forgotten what happened to Tommy." "I know," she said softly. "I still miss him, too. You know, we..." She stopped then, because she saw the tears welling in my eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "You didn't come here to wallow in old hurts." "No, it's OK," I said as I quickly composed myself, then smiled bravely. "It's a part of my life, and I can't change it." We talked then about happier times, about some of the antics we'd all gotten up to in high school, and had some laughs. As we talked, and I nursed a couple of beers, I noticed that Angie was giving me a very intense look, and several times seemed to touch my hands for no particular reason. I thought back to a conversation I'd had toward the tail end of a party I'd been to at Ron White's house not long before I moved away from Elmwood for good. By then, he was living with Tracy Peeler; they would get married a couple of years later. It was actually the last time I'd seen Angie, and she'd been there with the guy who would eventually be her first husband, a rather obnoxious fellow who styled himself as a biker, but who seemed to be more of a wannabe than the real thing. After they left, Ron looked over at me and shook his head. "Doolin, I'll never understand why you never asked her out," Ron said. "What are you talking about?" I said, a little drunkenly. "Angie? Like I ever had a chance at that." "Shit, man, Angie's always had the hots for you," Ron said. "You didn't know?" "You're high, man," I said. "You're just pulling my leg." "No, really," Tracy said. "She always said you were the cutest guy in school. She thought it was so precious how shy you were." "Jee-zus," I mumbled. "I wish I'd known." I thought about that, and suddenly I decided that I'd had enough beer for the night. After my third Shiner, Angie came around and asked if I wanted another one. "Actually, coffee sounds like a good idea," I said, and I fixed her with an even gaze. She met my stare, and we were just locked together for several seconds, communicating wordlessly. I had noticed the coffee pot going behind the bar, for the designated drivers, I guess, and figured I could use a little sobering up if I wanted things to go the way I hoped they would. It had been five months since I'd broken up with my most recent girlfriend, I was horny as hell, and the prospect of reliving old times in Angie Martin's bed had a lot of appeal. When she brought me my cup and the sugar canister so I could doctor up my brew properly, she leaned over close to me, sort of conspiratorially. "So, do you still partake of the kind bud?" she asked. I laughed, then, because I had had no idea Angie was a Deadhead like me, but her use of the term kind bud as a codeword for weed gave that fact away. "Well..." I said slowly. "Not during the school year. Too risky. But during the summer? Yeah, I've still been known to pass a pipe around." "I don't do it very often, either, but I've got some killer sinse back at my house that I keep for special occasions," she said. "I'd say Doolin-Dalton's return to Elmwood after all this time rates as a special occasion." And this time she laid her hand on top of mine and left it there for several seconds, then squeezed it softly before she moved off to serve another patron. I sipped my coffee and tried to quell the excitement in my groin. "I get off at 1 o'clock," she said right before she moved on. I watched her as she moved up and down the bar, serving her customers. She still had the same graceful movements she'd had back in high school, still had the same charm. She'd been through some tough times, and it showed in some ways. But she'd rolled with the punches and was still one of the sexiest women I'd ever known. After awhile, Angie invited me to pick out the music and I selected some old Jefferson Airplane, but later pulled out Pearl Jam's first album, just for variety. We talked some more, although it was tough because the late crowd was pretty thick. Eventually, the crowd began to thin out as the 1 a.m. closing time approached. I busied myself by helping out in gathering the empty and partially empty beer bottles, beer cans and stuffed ashtrays. Finally, witching hour approached, the hour when the bars emptied and the cops were on high alert for the drunk drivers. Angie gathered up her purse and the manager locked the door behind us. As luck would have it, she was parked in the lot behind the buildings that fronted on Main Street, same as I was. I followed her as she drove to her small house in an older part of town, about a five-minute drive. I parked in the driveway behind her and got out. "Here it is," she laughed. "My humble abode." I stared at Angie's succulent butt as she walked up the steps to the front porch, and made a conscious effort to quell my enthusiasm. I wasn't going to push her into anything, but if I got any sort of opening, I was going to go for it with gusto. My Old Hometown I wasn't the same shy kid I'd been in high school. I knew I could please a woman like Angie; I'd proven it with any number of Southern cuties over the years. Angie flicked on the lights, then squatted down by the stereo to pick out some music. I stifled a groan as I saw her ass in that position and I wondered if she'd done that deliberately. Satisfied with her choice, she stood up, winked at me, then walked back into the bedroom and shut the door. As the music of the Grateful Dead wafted from the speakers, I looked around the tidy little place Angie now called home. It was actually a cool old house that had been refurbished, with a central air conditioning unit added and new flooring. Then the door to Angie's bedroom opened and she came out with a perfectly rolled joint, but that's not what grabbed my attention. Angie had changed from her jeans into a pair of loose-fitting gym shorts, and from her T-shirt to a snug-fitting tank top that bore the clear indentation of her nipples, indicating the lack of a bra. I also noticed something else, too, an intricately patterned tattoo around her lower leg, a few inches about her right ankle. Somehow, it just enhanced the whole sexy package. My cock was already tingling, but I had to keep telling myself not to rush things, not to get ahead of myself. Angie sat on the sofa next to me and fired up the joint. I could tell before I ever took a toke that it was sweet herb. I took a careful first pull off the doobie, since it had been nearly a year since I'd smoked anything. Even so, the potent smoke attacked my lungs and it took all my will not to hack my guts out. As it was, I did get into a pretty heavy coughing spell. But I could feel the effects immediately, as a warm feeling of euphoria veiled my mind and soul. While we shared the joint, we talked, and now we could talk about the things we hadn't been able to discuss at the bar – like our respective love lives, or lack thereof. I asked Angie why a sexy woman like her didn't have a boyfriend there in Elmwood. "Oh, I get hit on all the time at the bar, but I don't like many of the guys who hang out there," she said. "I mean, they're OK as customers, but nobody I care to bring home. And most of the really good men my age are married, and I've sworn off married men. I've been on every side of that shit, and I don't like it." She told me her first husband had been abusive, and that had led her into a clandestine affair that he found out about. She had also been the "other woman" in a destructive affair with a married man that had almost ruined his family. Then, she said, as cosmic payback, her second husband had cheated on her. "So, nowadays, I'm a lot more selective about the men I bring home," she said, giving me a look that sent a shudder through my body. "How about you? Why haven't you married? I'd have thought some lucky gal would've reeled you in by now." "Huh! Not bloody likely," I said. "I don't know, I guess I'm too picky, or maybe I'm just not ready to give up my independence. And I've been on both sides of the cheating line myself." It was true. The only woman I'd come close to marrying, about seven or eight years earlier, had begun sneaking around behind my back with a fitness instructor after we'd been together for nearly two years. It was the single most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me. Later on, though, about four years after that, I'd had a really nice woman that I worked with, and we'd been a couple for a little over a year when I started hanging out at a new bar and met this wild little college chick. She came on to me, I couldn't resist, my girlfriend had learned about it, and that was the end of that relationship. By then the joint was burned to a roach, and I was very high, very mellow and very horny. It was time to test the waters. "So tell me something," I said softly, scooting over close to where Angie was sitting. "Is it true what Ron and Tracy said about you, that you had the hots for me back in high school?" "Um-hum," she nodded. "And I hated you because you would not make a move. Doolin, you're the only man I've ever wanted that I never could get, and it frustrated the hell out of me. You were so cute and so shy, but you know how things were back in those days. We were so liberated, but the gals still didn't come on to the guys. And you were too fucking shy to pick up the hints I left lying around." "But it's different now, isn't it," I whispered as our lips seemed to come together in slow motion. I kissed Angie Martin the way I'd wanted to all those years earlier, and when I did, it unleashed the passion that had been smoldering all night. In seconds, our lips were straining together and our tongues were battling furiously. I pulled her hot body to mine and let my hands roam. We were panting in lust when we broke apart for air. Angie reached over and pulled my T-shirt off and I followed suit. I feasted my eyes on her gorgeous little titties, and she cooed as she raked her fingers over my chest. Then she stood and pulled me up with her. "Take me to bed, and fuck me, Doolin," she said with an intensity that was breathtaking. "Let's make up for lost time right now. I need a man to love me, no strings, no nothing, just two people who need to fuck someone decent." We stopped just long enough to shed the rest of our clothes - and for me to get out of my shoes and socks - before we tumbled onto her waterbed. Our hands were everywhere as we kissed wildly, until I gently pushed her back. Angie looked at me quizzically, but I smiled the smile that every woman I've ever had says is my best feature. "I just want to look at you, soak in the moment," I said. "You really are the sexiest woman I think I've ever seen." And I wasn't just feeding her a line, either. She was a fucking goddess, with a regal neck, beautiful breasts and a clean-shaved pussy that was dripping with desire. "You're pretty nice, yourself," Angie said, squeezing my fat, purple cock. "I just love men with big cocks." No more words were necessary; everything was body language and wordless communication, like we instinctively knew what the other wanted. Angie bent her mouth to my rock-hard nipples, as she subtly jacked my cock, spreading the copious pre-cum all over the crown and down the shaft. Her tongue was leaving snail trails down my belly as she moved toward my crotch. I filled my hands with her tits and rolled her nipples with one hand, while the other was playing a soft arpeggio in her smooth-skinned cunt. Then I groaned as felt her soft tongue licking up and down my shaft. "You like that?" she said, laughter in her voice. "Then you'll love this." And with that she opened her mouth and swooped down on my cock, taking half of it right from the start, then slowly working her way back up. As she got into a slow sucking rhythm, I pulled her hips around and got her to straddle my head. I stared at the fat lips, with the dew of her arousal smeared around the entrance, and the swollen clit beckoning me from its hood. I reached up and pulled her butt down, so that her pussy slid over my lips. I kissed her little bud, then licked up her slot once, twice, three times before boring into her clenching hole with my tongue. Angie gave a muffled groan as I brought all of my pussy-licking expertise to bear on her hot cunt, then I gave a muffled moan of my own as she vacuumed my cock almost to the hilt. Now I was really impressed, because there hadn't been many women in my experience who could take all of my fat seven-plus inches. I decided to try something, just to see how she would react, so on one swipe up her flooded slit, I kept right on going and rolled my tongue over her hot pink asshole, giving it a furious licking. As I had suspected, that brought a long low growl of approval and a furious round of cocksucking. In fact, I could feel the tingle in my scrotum that told me I was on the verge of a major eruption, and I definitely didn't want that, plus I felt the twitter in her twat that was a sure indication that she was close to meltdown herself. Angie read my mind, because she squeezed the base of my cock to stem the tide of cum that threatened to explode in her mouth. She gave my cock one final slurp then pulled her head away and slid down the bed. Keeping a firm grip on my cock, she squatted over my hips, aiming the bulbous head of my cock at the gates of her cunt, then we both groaned loudly as she sank her steaming cunt onto my burning spear. To say that Angie Martin's pussy was a hot velvet vise would be seriously understating just how good she was. For a woman who was as experienced as she was, her cunt was tight and muscular, and it caressed my cock almost like a third hand. We quickly got into a slow, but steady rhythm, as I filled my hands with her butt, the better to regulate her movements. Angie threw her head back in ecstasy as she rode my cock. "Oh Dalton, baby, fuck me!" she cried. "Dooooo iiiiiiitttttt!" I could tell she was getting close to a climax, and I worked my hips upward to give her the full force of my rock-hard cock. I reached up and squeezed her tits, feeling the sheen of sweat from our exertions as I lightly pinched her nipples. I heard the high-pitched squeals from Angie's mouth seconds before I felt the trembling of her body as her orgasm rippled through her body. I held my cock still and let the sensations wash over me. My cock was buried deep in her twitching cunt as she leaned onto my chest, and I enveloped her in my arms. "Angie Baby, you're the best," I whispered in her ear, then licked all around the outside of her ear and down to her earlobe, just for emphasis. "But now it's time to show you what I can do." "I'm ready, Doolin," she panted. "Do me like an outlaw should." God, I felt like a million dollars, in bed with one of the women I'd spilled gallons of cum over in my youth, a woman I never dreamed I ever get a chance to have. I rolled her over onto her back, and my cock slipped out of its sheath. I got a huge rush as I knelt between Angie's legs and saw her splayed there, legs open wide, her juicy red cunt on display, her small tits heaving with passion. She reached down with a hand and opened her lips to widen the target. "Fuck me hard, Doolin," she whispered. "Don't hold anything back." And I didn't. I gripped my cock at the base, put the head to her sloppy hole and rammed it home with all the force I could muster. "AHHHHHH! YEAH!" Angie cried as I quickly got up to speed. "FUCK ME BAY-BEEEEE!" Then I lay across her body, gathering her in my arms and we kissed, wildly, wantonly, just two out-of-control lovers who were deep in the grips of lust. The sizzle of our sweat-covered bodies sliding together just fueled our passion, and I buried my face in her shoulder and let her have it just as hard as I could. Angie lifted her long legs into the air, planting her ankles on my shoulders and begged me to fuck her hard, hard, hard. I couldn't speak, but just grunted over and over as I felt my cock going ballistic in her clenching depths. I rammed my cock relentlessly back and forth in her boiling box, and I could feel her orgasm, more powerful that the one before, rushing to overtake her. She thrashed and strained underneath me, and I squeezed my eyes shut to hold back the tide of cum as long as possible. But release was not to be denied. As Angie's body went into overdrive, I felt the crackle of climax explode deep in me. Angie cried and groaned in her own orgasm as my cum rocketed from my balls and spewed out the end of my cock in a half-dozen jets of steaming cream. My whole body shuddered as I emptied my balls deep in Angie's twitching pussy. As I shot bolt after bolt of cum, she milked me of everything I had to give, until finally I slumped forward, lying motionless on her sweat-slick body. It was truly the best fuck of my life up to that point, almost like catharsis, and we kissed tenderly in the afterglow of lust. At length, my sated cock slithered out of her dilated pussy, followed by a river of my semen. I rolled to the side and gathered Angie Baby into my arms. So many things I wanted to say, but I was content to let the moment speak for itself. After awhile, Angie looked up at me, and I could tell her eyes were dewy. "You probably think I'm some slut," she said. "Dragging a man I haven't seen in 16 years to bed the first night he's home. That's always been my downfall; I'm too easy." "Bullshit," I said forcefully. "You're no more of a slut than I am, tumbling into bed with some floozy on the first date. It works both ways, Angie. That was some of the best sex I've ever experienced, with an old friend that I always cared about." "God, I wish I'd just taken you down 20 years ago," Angie said. "Think about how different our lives might have been." "It probably would have been a total disaster," I said. "To everything there is a season, and a time for everything under heaven. Angie, everything happens for a reason. Do you think it's a coincidence that we connected tonight? I'm gone 16 years, then I decide to come back for my reunion, stop in for a drink at the same place you're working, and suddenly the time is right for us." Angie just laid her head on my shoulder as she absorbed the truth of what I'd said. Then she looked up at me and now there were real tears running down her cheeks. "Damn you, Dalton," she said. "You're gonna make me fall in love with you, and there's no way we can have a relationship. You'll be gone in a few days, back to your own life, and I'll still be stuck here in Elmwood. It's not fair." I brought her to me and kissed her tenderly. I knew exactly what she was feeling, because I'd been thinking the same thing. "Look, we're getting way ahead of ourselves here," I said. "Let's live for today, enjoy the moment, and let tomorrow sort itself out. If this is all we ever have, then let's make it the best of it that we possibly can. Who knows what the future will bring." "You're right," Angie said, suddenly sounding very chipper. "So let's have some fun." With that, she bounced off the bed, went to the dresser where she kept her stash and headed off to the bathroom. When she emerged a few minutes later, she had another rolled joint in one hand and was holding something behind her back in the other hand. She stuck the joint in her mouth, fished a lighter from the bedside table, took a toke off the joint, handed it to me, then brought her other hand around and dropped a tube of lubricant onto the bed. She just smiled wickedly when I arched my eyes at that, and plopped down on the bed next to me. "I want you to do something I haven't had done to me in a long time," she said, after taking another pull from the joint. "I want you to fuck my ass. Think you can do that for me?" I just smiled and pulled her to me and kissed her, deep with lots of tongue. "You get me hard enough and I'll fuck anything," I said. "Animal, vegetable or mineral, doesn't matter." She laughed, then, really the first time I'd heard that same squeaky laugh that we used to get a kick out of back in high school. We finished the joint, and lay back on the bed, our hands softly moving over each other's body. I ran my fingers lightly over Angie's nipples, and felt them stand up and salute. She slowly jacked my cock up to rampant hardness, then softly hefted my balls, which were reloaded with another dose of cum. "So you like it in the ass?" I whispered, staring into Angie's luminous eyes. For emphasis, I slid my hand between her legs, and felt the dripping wetness that was more than just the lingering dregs of the cum that I had deposited there earlier. And I went further and rimmed her anus with my finger, just lightly opening her hole. "When it's done right, it makes me come in buckets," Angie said, pulling me to her for a long, sensual kiss. "Not many guys know how to do it right, but I'll bet you can. I'm guessing that a man who's as eager to lick my ass as you were earlier is a man who knows how to get a lady ready for a good hard butt-fucking." Well, she'd certainly thrown down the gauntlet. The truth was, I had engaged in anal sex exactly three times in my life before that night, and each time it had been something approaching nirvana. "I'll do my best," I said. But first I had something I'd missed out on earlier, and that was to get a good taste of Angie's succulent tits. I love women's breasts – any shape, any size – and I love to lick, suck and nibble at a woman's nipples, especially when they are as juicy as Angie's. Like I said, Angie's tits weren't real big, but they were beautiful, nice and firm. I feasted on her breasts, worshiping them the way they deserved, and I was rewarded with a long, low moan of lust that seemed to come from the pit of her soul. After a few minutes of this, I slid down the bed and got her to roll onto her stomach, with her hips slightly raised. At first, I just drilled two fingers slowly back and forth in her soupy cunt, boring it open. Then I used my thumb to rim at the edge of her anus, and Angie moaned at that. She was trembling with desire, and writhing in anticipation. But that was just the prelude. I knelt behind her, picked up her butt and pressed my face to her crotch. The aroma of her intense arousal, combined with the odor of my cum, was intoxicating, and it fueled a righteous passion deep in me. I wanted to please this goddess like I'd never wanted to please anyone before, and I slid my tongue over Angie's anus and began to lick her pink hole like a madman. "Ah, shit!" Angie exclaimed as I dug my tongue into her backside and started the process of getting her loose and ready. "God, Doolin, that feels soooooo gooooood!" All the while, I kept my fingers churning in her cunt, and added some thumb action on her throbbing clit to bring her to the heights of ecstasy. I waited and waited, until I felt her body start to tense, then I backed away. She growled in frustration at getting so close, but I wanted her so crazy and relaxed that when I got ready to put my meat to her ass, she'd go nuts. When she'd cooled down just a bit, I started in again, tonguing her ass and fingering her pussy, and her moans of lust were delirious. Once again, I took her to the brink of climax, then pulled away. "God, Dalton, don't leave me hanging like that!" she cried. "Come on!" "It's all good, honey," I whispered in her ear. "When I get through with you, you'll thank me." I got behind her again, and this time I picked up the jelly and squeezed out a generous dollop onto two fingers and began to circle her Angie's anus. Slowly, it relaxed and opened for me, and when I eased a finger past her ring, she gasped in real lust. I began to slowly move that finger back and forth in her butt, and used the other hand to grease my throbbing pole and get it ready. After awhile, I added a second finger and used them to get her ass open enough for me to get my cock in there. At the same time, I had two fingers working in her spastic pussy, and she was humping her ass back in rhythm with my hand. This time, when I heard her high-pitched squeals and felt her body tighten up, I got up on my knees behind her. It was time, and Angie knew it. She raised up on her knees, reached back with both hands and pulled her buttocks open and begged me to fuck her ass and to fuck it hard. Carefully, I aimed the head of my cock at her anus, which was no longer puckered, but open slightly. I slowly, subtly, pushed forward, and I felt her sphincter start to give. Suddenly, my cock popped past her ring and the head of my cock slid into her hot, tight ass. Angie screamed in lust and her body went rigid as I slowly slid my entire length into her smooth, slippery canal. My Old Hometown The moment I pulled back and began to fuck her ass with slow steady strokes, Angie's whole body went into convulsions as she came hard. Incoherent moans, gasps and cries escaped her lips as her orgasm washed over her. She hadn't been lying. Angie was coming hard and fast, and it took all of my willpower to keep from letting my own orgasm go. At length, Angie got herself somewhat under control, and I gripped her butt as I began to fuck her ass relentlessly. I worked my iron-hard cock in her buttery depths like a steam locomotive, running down the tracks, and Angie worked her hips back and forth in time to my incoming thrusts. It was truly a fuck for the ages, my hard fat cock in Angie Martin's tight, but pliable rectum, and we soared through the stratosphere of lust. Angie reached a hand under her body and began to strum her bloated clit like Jerry Garcia on a good night, producing spasms of lust that took her from one climax to another. Honestly, I counted at least six separate orgasmic twitters from Angie's body as I fucked her ass like a piston engine, and as we hurtled toward a spectacular finish, her head was lolling around and she was babbling like she was in some sort of dementia. Sweat covered our bodies as I pounded her ass harder and faster, and I could finally feel my control slipping. As Angie convulsed yet again in a hard, frothing orgasm, I croaked that I was coming, seconds before a white-hot explosion of semen jetted through my cock and spewed out the tip. I basted Angie's bowels in a flood of hot, wet cum, and it felt like my whole soul came out with it. I just slumped forward onto the bed, our bodies still joined and still twitching in the fiery aftermath of our climax. Finally, I was drained, but there was something I wanted to see before I passed out from sheer ecstasy and exhaustion. I rolled to the side, wrenching my cock from Angie's butt, and I felt a tingle roll through me as I saw her cored-open ass, red and swollen, oozing cum out the opening and down over her pussy. "Wow!" we both said at the same time, and we laughed contentedly at how in tune our minds were in that moment. We fell asleep, then, and didn't wake up until the noonday sun was shining in her window. We took a long, sensual bath, and I fucked her again right there in the tub, sloshing water all over the floor. Then we went back to bed and lay for almost an hour giving each other head in a glorious 69 that ended with Angie sucking down whatever cum I had left in my balls. It wasn't until she had to get ready for work that I finally left her little house and went back to my motel. I hooked up with Keith Simmons that night, at his sister's house in the city, drank a few beers then returned to the motel for a much-needed rest. I was tied up with reunion stuff, visiting friends and partying most of the day Friday and Saturday, and I didn't see much of Angie, except for late Saturday night, when a half-dozen or so of us went to the Drifter after the reunion dance was over. I visited with Angie briefly, but I was too wasted to do anything that night, and we ended up taking the party back to the motel after closing time. But after I put Keith on a plane Sunday afternoon, I drove back to Elmwood, and spent the rest of the day and all night with Angie, and it was pretty much the same thing as Wednesday night. The sex was intense, and I ended up filling all of her holes with cum. When I left the next morning to catch my flight back home, Angie cried bitter tears. "I knew I'd fall in love with you," she said. "I knew it, tried to prevent it, but there it is. You're such a good, decent man, you're the best lover I've ever had, and now you're going back to your life while I'm still here in fucking Elmwood." "Look, we'll stay in touch and see what happens," I said. "And whatever happens, just remember me, and what we did this weekend. You have an awful lot of love to give, if not to me, then to someone else who's decent and caring. You don't have to settle for second best. Hopefully, this won't be the last time we see each other." But I knew – we both knew – that it was. I'd love to say that we kept the spark alive over the miles, and we did in fact write back and forth, and we did talk on the phone quite often. Over the course of the next year, though, our contacts gradually diminished, and finally we went a month without a call or a letter. One afternoon, however, she called me out of the blue. After the usual greetings, she told me that she'd met someone, "special," an architect who had moved to Elmwood to work on a new subdivision. She was a little sheepish, like she was disappointing me. I just laughed. "I'm very happy for you, Angie Baby," I said. "I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you about my new girlfriend." And we laughed heartily, swapped notes on our love lives and had a very nice conversation. At the end, though, she turned pensive. "I owe you a lot, Doolin-Dalton," she said. "You showed me something about love, about living for the moment. You came into my life at the precise moment when I needed someone to just love me without strings, without bullshit, without worrying about emotional baggage. I just needed someone to bang the shit out of me without playing mind games, and there you were. You'll always have special place in my heart, Doolin. You're a good man, and you deserve to be happy." "So do you, Angie Baby, so do you," I said. And that was it. She married the architect and had a son and a daughter by him. I had met a fellow teacher who had joined the staff that year, a pretty divorcee, and we were married a year later. We have three kids, and I've settled into domestic tranquility. Angie and I still exchange Christmas cards every year, but that's the extent of our relationship. But it's enough to give me fond memories of Elmwood, rather than the sad, strained memories I had when I left there originally. That trip was a watershed event in my life, and I owe it all to a lonely old friend and the fires of lust that cleansed our lives and put us on a path to real love.