7 comments/ 60527 views/ 36 favorites Summer, My Sister's Best Friend By: SusanJillParker This is a Summer Lovin' contest story. Please vote. * Stephen's love of his life is his sister's best friend, Summer, a woman eight years older than him. Summer, I'm in love with Summer, my sister Christine's best friend and I don't know what to do about it. Love at first sight, it all started the first time I saw Summer in the summer of 1968. She was in the backyard with my sister in the pool. As if my sister was swimming with an angel, a woman with a model's face and a porn star body, I couldn't believe how beautiful she was. With her long, blonde hair and shapely body, never have I seen anyone as beautiful. Then later, they'd lie out in the hot sun in their bikinis to bake themselves by the pool. Considered a two piece swimsuit today, by modern standards of what bikinis are now, the song, Itsy, Bitsy, Teenie, Weenie, Yellow, Polka Dot Bikini would have to be renamed, Itsy, Bitsy, Teenie, Weenie, Barely There, String Bikini, if written today. When seeing my sister and her friend out back, especially with them showing so much skin, they were both so hot and I was so sexually aroused. They were so sexy. No doubt, not wanting to be deemed sluts by some of the older and more reserved residents of the neighborhood, my sister and her friend were careful not to be seen in their bikinis without wearing their cover ups. Even when fully dressed, they knew that they made men crazy, never mind if men saw them strutting around in their bikinis. Not wanting all of that unwanted sexual attention, they wore their bikinis only in the backyard and never at the beach. 'Twas a time when I was always so horny. 'Twas a time when I always walked around with an erection. 'Twas a time when I masturbated night and day. 'Twas a time, even with the sexual revolution in full force, when sexuality was much more reserved than it is today. Secluded in the backyard, obviously, they thought that no one could see them so nearly nakedly exposed. With the high backyard fence, the multitude of bushes and the line of trees that blocked everyone's view of them, they thought they had total privacy but they didn't. They thought I wasn't home but I was. They thought they were alone but they weren't. Wrong, wrong, wrong, if only they knew I was there watching them they'd be so angry with me. Never bored with the view, I watched them for hours out my 2nd floor, bedroom window while masturbating over all that my sister and her best friend were showing and all that I was seeing. Not even showing much than what a two piece bathing suit conceals, compared to how women show so much of their bodies today, they'd be thought of as prudes. Having peeped on my sister, masturbated over her sunbathing nearly naked, and masturbated over the incestuous thoughts of having sex with my sister lots of times before, now I was more focused on my sister's best friend, Summer, than on my sister. While staring at Summer from afar, I'd stroke myself to her laying out on her stomach with her bra undone while my sister buttered her beautiful body with Coppertone, suntan lotion. Laying it on thick, I imagined coating Summer's beautiful body with my cum. Oh my God, how I wished it was me slowly and lovingly lathering her back and creaming her long, shapely legs with suntan lotion while trying to steal peeks of the exposed sides of her beautiful breasts. From where I peeked down at them from my bedroom window, I could see the entire side of Summer's huge, natural, C cup breast, especially when she leaned up on her elbows to talk to my sister. Waiting while hoping to show just a little more, if only she knew I was there watching her while masturbating over her, she'd be so embarrassed. She'd be so angry that I peeped on her. If only she'd arch her back just a little more and lean up just a little bit higher, I'd see her areola and nipple. Imagining her naked breast in my mind, I'd love to see her areolas and nipples. "Better tits than any Playboy Playmate, damn, she has big tits. I'd love to see her tits. I'd love to feel her tits. I wish I could suck her tits while fondling her big breasts and fingering her erect nipples," I remembered out loud for no one to hear but me while masturbating. If only my friends knew that I had such a view from out my bedroom window, they'd be so jealous but not wanting to share Summer with them or with anyone, I didn't tell anyone about my sister's best friend. Then, once, after watching her and my sister for weeks, as if wishing it to happen made it happen, I saw Summer's entire tits, areolas, and nipples, when she moved too fast to jump out of the stinging path of a hornet and abandoned her bra behind. Too quick with her hands for me to see anything, she covered her breasts with her hands but then, while trying to avoid being stung when the hornet chased after her, she ran in circles with her breasts uncovered. Who wouldn't chase after her? Even the hornet knew enough to chase after her. I'd chase after her too if she was running around in circles topless. I couldn't believe my luck. I couldn't believe my eyes. The right time at the right place, I never would have seen her topless had her screams not alerted me to look out my bedroom window. Jumping around the backyard screaming as if she was on fire with the hornet flying after her and with her big boobs bouncing, swaying, and jiggling, I couldn't believe my sister's best friend was topless. Topless, topless, topless, it took all the control that I had not to run out there to rescue her from the hornet but I didn't want them to know that I was home watching them. Figuring that I'd spoil them from lying out back for the rest of the summer, not wanting them to be self-conscious about their semi-nakedness for fear that I'd see of them what I shouldn't see of them, I didn't want them to know that I had been watching them. Moreover, figuring that I'd ruin any chance that I may have with her, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable by embarrassing her, I didn't want Summer to know that I had seen her tits. "Her tits! Her tits! I can't believe I saw my Summer's tits." If only my sister knew that I had been home and spying on them, peeping on them actually, while masturbating, I'd be in such trouble. Obviously thinking that no one could see her running around the backyard in circles screaming, she no longer bothered covering her big tits with her hands. A sexy sight to behold, I masturbated over seeing her big, bouncing tits for years. Not willing to accept anyone else, it was then that I wanted Summer in my life always and forever. "Stephen!" I imagined my sister looking at me as the perverted peeper that I was had I gone outside to rescue Summer from the hornet. "What are you doing home? How long have you been home?" I imagined my sister looking from me to look at her best friend still running around the backyard topless and screaming. "Summer! Cover yourself. My brother, Stephen, is here." "Hi," I imagined saying to her while staring at her beautiful face and nearly naked, big tits. "Hi," I imagined Summer saying while barely covering her big breasts with her hands again. "Summer, this is my brother Stephen. Stephen this is Summer," I imagined my sister introducing me to her friend. "Hello Stephen. Nice to meet you." I imagined Summer exposing her right breast to shake my hand. I imagined Summer looking from me to look down at herself to see all that she was showing and all that I was seeing. Then as a continuation of my sexual fantasy but instead of fantasizing over seeing my sister's tits, I now replaced my sister with Summer in my sexual fantasies. "Do you like my big tits?" I imagined her saying while putting her hands by her side, puffing out her chest, and striking a vogue pose. "Your tits? I just love your big tits Summer," I imagined saying in return while I masturbated watching Summer still running around the backyard. "You have such beautiful tits." I remember before being introduced to her wondering what her name was. Someone so beautiful must have a special name. Angelica, Gabriella, Veronica, Victoria, Juliana, or Alexandria, I just knew that it had to be a multi-syllable name, something exotically rare. Then, after my sister introduced me and I learned her name was Summer, imagining my favorite season with her in it the mere mention of her name certainly gave me beautiful images. * * * * * Such a long time ago, it's been forty-five years when I first saw Summer. It still seems like yesterday that I saw her for the first time. Yet, even though my life is filled with memories of her at every age and even though I cherished them all at the time, sadly and tragically, I can no longer remember every moment that I had with her. Too old now and too long ago, when I try to remember all that happened during all of those forgotten years, just faded memories that light up before dimming and going dark, I can't possibly piece together every memory of Summer in my life over 45 years. Where did the time go? Sometimes seemingly if it was all yesterday and sometimes seemingly as if it had been a hundred years ago, it all went by so fast, too fast or too slow depending upon what part of my life it was, the good parts or the bad. Yet, I wouldn't trade one bad day with Summer for a thousand good days with someone else. The only bad part of my life was waiting for Summer to fall in love with me and that wait took forever. Yet, no matter if my life transpired too fast or too slow, I wished I could live it all over again, at least just the parts with Summer. If I knew then what I know now, my life would have been so different. A lifetime ago, I can't believe it's been four and a half decades since we met. Wow! Forty-five summers of Summer controlling my thoughts and feelings fast forwarded in just a blink of an eye. I was 18-years-old when I met Summer in the summer of 1968. The first time seeing her was as visually stimulating as was the first time going from black and white to color TV, except for all the green tint, and the first time going from PC-DOS code to MS Windows. By far, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever met. Then, when I saw her tits that fateful day, a sexual overload especially for horny me, I wished I had a Polaroid camera with me at the ready to save the moment. Something to masturbate to instead of just an incomplete memory, I wish I could have captured her topless on film to keep me warm on those lonely nights when she wasn't there in my bed. A different time back then, if that topless run around the backyard happened today, all that I'd have to do is to pull out my cell phone and video record the whole thing. The video would have gone viral had I dared posted it to YouTube but we didn't even have digital cameras and personal computers, never mind the Internet back then. Other than that one topless recollection of her that I have ingrained in my memory, I would have enjoyed having a photograph or a video of her running around topless in the backyard that day. She was pricelessly funny and excitingly sexy. "Wow! Seemingly not that long ago, not even in the span of a lifetime, how things have changed from the sixties to today especially with computers and the Internet. With cell phone texting, Facebook, Twitter, and e-mails instead of snail mail, credit cards, debit cards, and ATM cards everything is so instantly immediate. Back then everything was hurry up and wait. Now seemingly, even though everything is so much faster, the spoiled society that we have grown to become, everything today is still too slow and nothing is fast enough when everything is so very much faster than it was forty-five years ago." Love at first sight, never have I felt such instant and immediate love for anyone in the way that I felt love for Summer. Yet, a love not to be, she was eight years older than me, a huge generational gap at my age. Moreover, she was the best friend of my big sister. Even if she knew I existed as a man instead of her best friend's kid brother, what chance did I have with her? None. * * * * * With Simone and Garfunkel's, Mrs. Robinson, playing in the background, years before Richard Gere's movie Gigolo, 'twas a time before older women were so openly, unabashedly, and proudly deemed cougars and younger men were deemed gigolos. The movie, The Graduate, had just been released the year before with Katherine Ross playing the love interest and with Anne Bancroft playing the cougar trying to seduce Dustin Hoffman. As hot as Katherine Ross was in that movie, no comparison, Summer, taller, prettier, and shapelier, was much hotter. Summer was hotter than even Jennifer O'Neill in the Summer of '42 and, much later, hotter than Bo Derek in the movie 10. No woman was better looking than Summer. So hip and cosmopolitan back then without even realizing it until now, I was in style lusting over an older woman. Looking back, a sexual pioneer, who knew that I'd be such a trendsetter? Not looking to be in vogue, I just wanted Summer. For those who have no interest in older women and/or for those who always wanted to have sex with their mothers, not that Summer was old enough to be my mother, but you've never made love and you've never been loved, until falling in love with an older woman. Every time Claudia Cardinale kissed someone in Once Upon a Time in the West, I imagined kissing Summer. Every time I watched Jane Fonda naked in Barbarella, even though she was so opposed to the Viet Nam War, I imagined being naked with Summer. The same age as my big sister, Christine, Summer was 26-years-old. I was never really sexually attracted to my big sister, who was a beautiful woman too, any more than a normal brother and sister incestuous rite of passage thing. Not even close, I wasn't sexually attracted to my sister in the way that I was sexually attracted to her best friend, Summer. Indeed, unequivocally and without qualification, I was sexually attracted to my sister's best friend. Forget the rest, wanting only the best, Summer was the one woman that I so wanted. Summer was the woman of my dreams and of my sexual fantasies, especially after I saw her big breasts that fateful day with her running around the backyard pool screaming while trying to avoid the hornet's sting. Never have I met anyone like her, from the first day that I saw her, I was in love with Summer. "Summer, Summer, Summer, I want you." * * * * * Summer was the kid sister of Christine's steady boyfriend, her intended fiancée, thirty-year-old Hank. With him being thirty-years-old, I remember thinking that he was an old man. A time just after the John and Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King assassinations, the older generation had screwed up our planet, fouled the air, spoiled the water, and murdered our sons in an unwinnable war. Much like other young folks my age, I didn't hold the older generation in high regard. With a lot of changes happening, racism, civil rights, activism, protests, sit-ins, the sexual revolution, and Viet Nam, "Hell no, we won't go!", nonetheless and without a doubt, it was a good time to be alive. Hank was a natural born leader of men. Yet teasing him as if he was Bunny Rabbit's Captain Kangaroo, Captain Crunch, introduced in 1963, or Captain America, our personal, favorite superhero other than Superman, we used to affectionately call my sister's boyfriend Captain Hank because he was a Captain in the United States Marines. A captain in the best fighting army in the world, when others were protesting against the war, I was proud that my future brother was a decorated war hero. Even though I was morally against the Viet Nam War, yet still ready to do my duty to God and serve my country should I be drafted, whenever Hank appeared at my house in his uniform, I had the urge to salute him before running off to enlist in the Marines. 'Twas a different time back then. 'Twas a time of cowboy shoot 'em up, war movies, and bigger than life heroes in the likes of John Wayne, Steve McQueen, and Burt Lancaster in From Here to Eternity. 'Twas a time of innocence that's since been lost with assassinations, Watergate, Iran Contras, Florida State voting recount, Bill Clinton, John Edwards, Elliot Spitzer, and Rod Blagojevich political and sexual scandals. Nothing is sacred not even the office of the president of the United States. Living vicariously through my future brother's military accomplishments, I'd regale all of his battle exploits to my friends as if he was Audie Murphy, a Congressional Medal of Honor winner from World War II. Classified as 1A in the military draft, the first year of the draft lottery, my excuse not to go to war or flee to Canada, I was glad that I was in college and wouldn't be drafted to fight and die in Viet Nam. It took a special kind of American, a real hero, who'd fight for his country on the chance that he'd never return home to enjoy the fruits of freedom for his bravery. Not a coward, I just didn't want to needlessly die for another political war while my Congressmen sat on their fat asses and collected all the monies they'd steal from making closed door, dirty deals with arms manufacturers and military suppliers. War was money. War was power. War was posturing, peddling, and pandering their political influence. War was their political machine. War was professed to be good for the economy. A win/win for those in power, war was their hidden agenda excuse and their way to keep the middleclass down and their campaign war chest full. Nothing more than a boost to the economy and another uptick to the Dow Jones cumulative averages, America going to another needless, endless, and winless war was a monetary gain for those in political and financial power. Given bad information with Cheney pulling all the strings for monetary gain with a multi-billion dollar no bid contract awarded to Halliburton, President Bush waved the American flag as they did when my country bombed Iraq on the pretense that they were responsible for the Twin Towers bombing. They waved the American flag and sent our sons and daughters off to die because Iraq was deemed to have weapons of mass destruction, when they didn't. The real reason why our sons and daughters needlessly died in Iraq and Afghanistan is for money and oil and not for democracy and freedom. How dare those we put in political office and those who we entrust with political influence and power over our people lie to us to put their wants and needs over our own. What's in it for us when too many of us don't even have a job and those who have a job don't have benefits? While earning less and less, all we do is work and work, while out public servants earn more and more. * * * * * A Gung-ho, Annapolis graduate with his mind set for a career not in the military but in the Marines, a much different mindset, Hank served two stints in Viet Nam before being wounded and before returning home to re-up in the Marines to become an undercover CIA, intelligence operative in Laos and Cambodia. Forbidden territory back then, suicide to even be there alone, it would be a political embarrassment if Laotians and Cambodians discovered that America was invading their countries with CIA operatives. We learned later from his war buddies that leave no man behind wasn't applicable if captured in those countries. He was captured twice and escaped both times on his own and without help from the people who put him there in danger. Expert in martial arts, hand-to-hand combat, and a master in every modern day weaponry, he was a stealth, natural born killer. The best of the best, he was the original Jason Bourne of the 1960's. Yet, there in my background, my constant foreground, was his sister, Summer. How one sibling could be so deadly and the other sibling so beautiful was oxymoronically wrong. Seemingly as if she had a black belt in martial arts herself or was an American Indian, fluid in motion, liquid in her movements, and light afoot, never hearing her approach or leave, much like air, appearing from out of nowhere, she was just there. Much like her big brother, with her stealth skills of quietly coming and going, had she had her brother's killer instincts, she could have been a Mafia hit woman. Yet more as if she was a prima ballerina, a dancer so light on her feet, she walked as if she floated on air that I wondered if she could walk on water. Summer, My Sister's Best Friend Imagining that she could walk on water, if she had wings, she'd be an angel, my angel. Indeed, she didn't need wings to be my angel. She already was. More than once I imagined her flying away with me to some remote, tropical, South Seas island paradise, Bali, Tahiti, or Fiji, where we could live happily ever after. Wherever she went, I'd follow. More than once, especially now that I saw her tits, with my eyes and my mind filled with the semi-naked sight of her, I imagined us on the beach with her topless. Bouncing her big boobs while running to me in the warm sand in the way that Dudley Moore imagined Bo Derek running to him, I wasted so much of my cum masturbating over Summer. If only she was my woman, never self-abusing myself by masturbating again, I'd be the happiest man on Earth. If only she was my woman, with my life complete, I'd never ask God for anything else, not even to win the lottery, if there was a lottery back then but there wasn't. Perhaps just my imagination but as if she was a supermodel on a photo shoot, there always seemed to be a slight enough breeze to gently move strands of her long, blonde hair back from her beautiful face. As if she had her own tiny, invisible Tinker Bell moving her hair, whenever I was with her, sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, seemingly even indoors, strands of her beautiful, blonde hair moved away from her big, blue eyes as if magically on its own. So full of life, in the way she talked with her hands and was so animated by her facial expressions and mannerisms, she reminded me of Thalia Menninger, the love character played by Tuesday Weld in Dobie Gillis. So beautiful and so sexy, a one of a kind rare beauty in the way of Inger Stevens of the Farmer's Daughter, she was so truly unforgettable. Stunningly gorgeous, Tuesday Weld was so beautiful and sexy, only Summer was even more so. Before I fell in love with Summer, my favorite season by the way, I was crazy mad in love with Tuesday Weld and later, with Angie Dickinson. Not Marilyn Monroe, Mimi Rogers, nor Jamie Lee Curtiss years later in Trading Places, no one had a better body and/or better breasts than did Angie Dickinson. With Angie Dickinson one of the women he bedded, even President Kennedy concurred that she was something special. Then, there was sexy, sensual Julie Newmar of My Living Doll with Robert Cummings and Joey Heatherton of the Dean Martin show, but Summer was even more beautiful than them all, especially after having the visual proof of seeing her tits. "Her tits. Her tits. I'd love to see her tits again. Wherefore art thou are her tits? As if I was Romeo calling Juliet for the chance to see her tits again, never will I forget seeing her topless. Every time I see her now, imagining seeing her tits, I can't help myself from imagining her topless. Even when she's sitting before me wearing her blouse and bra, I imagine her sitting there topless. I just love her big tits." * * * * * Shalimar, the perfume she wore, a much more expensive scent than my sister's cheap, drugstore brand, Ambush, smelled like Emeraude but was more expensive and longer lasting. It was a fragrance that lingered long after she left the room and I loved pretending that she was still there with me even when she wasn't and long after she had gone. If only she'd forgetfully leave her bottle of perfume behind, I'd sprayed some on my sheets and pillow to pretend that she was in bed with me as I pretended she was every night when my hand was tightly wrapped around my cock. I've seen beautiful women before when shopping in high-end department stores and in ritzy boutiques on Newbury Street in Boston and when watching Bob Barker's gorgeous models on The Price Is Right. But too thin, Twiggy like models never appealed to me in the way of a real woman with curves and in the way of Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, and Sophia Loren. Whenever I think of truly beautiful women, I think of Elizabeth Taylor, Lee Remick, and Natalie Wood, but never have I seen a woman as naturally beautiful in person as was Summer. "Summer, Summer, Summer, I'm in love with Summer." Tall and thin, albeit shapely, every bit as beautiful as Miss America of 1968, Debra Dene Barnes, from Kansas, if I was given a choice of the two women, I'd pick Summer. A natural born beauty without even a hint of makeup other than lipstick, eye liner, and eye shadow, she was the image by how I compared all other women later in my life. Unfortunately, with no other woman comparing to her, I was forever lost yearning for Summer. Still in love with her, and in honor to her while hoping that, one day, she'd notice me, I never married or even dated. Foolish of me not to live my life without her in it but, not fair to any other woman who I may be with, how could I date anyone when I was so in love with Summer? Never giving up hope that one day she'd notice me and that undoubtedly we'd be together forever, with me strangely saving myself for Summer, the love of my life, sadly she wasn't saving herself for me. My sister's best friend wasn't yearning over me in the way that I was lusting over her. With me evidentially non-existent in her mind and in her heart, I was nowhere on Summer's love chart list of prospects. Why would I be? I was just an 18-year-old, immature kid and she was a 26-year-old women who knew what she wanted and what she didn't want was me. When not sitting at the kitchen table talking to her over a cup of coffee, just my sister's kid brother, I was invisible to her. I didn't exist on her list of love interests. Indeed, popular with men, especially with the wrong kind of men, she had lots of boyfriends. Preferring bad men to good men, tattooed, hard rock, hard living, and hard liquor drinking tough guys with guns, scars, and violent stories to tell, she had a love for riding on the back of motorcycles, especially the big hogs and ear piercingly loud choppers. Compared to the men that she liked, loved, and had sex with I was the complete opposite, a college boy sissy who read poetry and wrote stories. When I took liberal arts instead of business in college, or instead of going to trade school to learn a trade, some of my friends thought I was gay, but just an English major, I wasn't. Too afraid of falling and crushing my bones instead of just breaking them, comfortable in my ignorance of riding motorcycles and preferring not to know what I was missing riding with bugs in my teeth, eyes, and hair, I had never even been on a motorcycle. Yet, if she showed any interest in me at all, for the love of Summer, I'd learn how to ride. For the love of Summer, I'd even be a bad man so that I could have my own violent, criminal stories to tell. Only, covering them with my hands while cringing as if the ground shook with an earthquake, those loud motorcycles, especially when in a gang, hurt my ears and offended the peaceful quiet that I needed to write my poems and stories. Compared to the men she dated, I was delicate. Compared to the men she date, I was sensitive. Obviously and unfortunately, I'd never be one of the men she dated. Maybe if I had a motorcycle, a big, loud Harley, she would have taken more interest in me. Maybe if I had a motorcycle, I could have given her a ride. Feeling her C cup breasts pressed tightly against my back, I imagined the wisps of her long, blonde hair tickling my neck. With her arms wrapped tightly around my waist, just mere inches from the erection that I'd surely have with her holding me, I wished I didn't have such a fear of motorcycles, choppers, and hogs. I wished I was more like the hard living, bad to the bone men who attracted her. She made me wish that I had a tattoo, a scar, missing teeth, and a story to tell how it all happened. Yet, hoping that would suffice, if I couldn't live the life, perhaps I could write the yarn with her as my leading lady and with me as her leading man. I imagined her in my life and her in my bed while reading my stories to her. Keeping abreast of her through my sister, she married twice and divorced twice but didn't have any children, thank God, as I wanted her to have my baby. A lasting memory and my legacy, I wanted my baby to be the one thing that I gave her that no one else had. Always choosing the wrong men, the abusers, the cheaters, the drunks, the gamblers, and the wife beaters, thinking that she could change them, she was still a regular at my sister's house sobbing her sad, love story with every romantic breakup that she foolishly thought would last her lifetime. Every time she visited, as if she needed my sister's approval or as if her intent was to make me jealous, she had a new, musclebound, tattooed, Neanderthal of a man dressed in leather on her arm. With his horny hands all over my woman and with them oblivious to me in my own house, I'd see him touching her, feeling her, and kissing her in the way that I so wanted to touch her, feel her, and kiss her. Half a world away, if Captain Hank was still here instead of off somewhere in the steamy jungles of Laos or Cambodia, I imagined him in the way of Billy Jack, no doubt chasing all of these motorcycle, mad men away. Without doubt, if Captain Hank was here, he'd forbade her from seeing those kind of men. A different time back then with the sexual revolution, she dated so very many different men. If I didn't hold Summer so high up on my pedestal, instead of thinking of her as an angel without wings and a halo, I'd think she was a whore with a cock in each hand, one in between her legs, and another one in her mouth. * * * * * Going from false eyelashes, go-go boots, and mini-skirts in the sixties to maxi-dresses, hot pants, and dress trousers in the seventies, to big hair, heavy makeup, and luminous colors in the eighties, she changed with the times while I stayed the same and remained living with my sister. She lived her life to her fullest extent but without Summer in my life, I didn't have a life. With our parents dying early in our lives in an automobile accident, I enjoyed a strangely symbiotic relationship with my sister. Afraid to lose one another and to be left alone without any family, we clung onto one another as if we were meant to be together as husband and wife instead of brother and sister. Although never incestuously intimate, even though I lusted over having sex with my sexy sister as would any horny, 18-year-old teenager, we were more friends later in life than we were brother and sister. Besides, not sexually interested in me in the way that I was once sexually interested in her, I was more in love with Summer than I ever was with my big sister. Moreover, never out of the closet with her sexual preference, as if she was a Nun who hadn't yet taken her vows of chastity, my sister was a non-practicing lesbian. Keeping her secret to myself, no one knew or suspected her preference for women over men but for me. I'm not sure if she even knew herself that she preferred women to men which would explain why she never married and/or had a lesbian affair. The loyal girlfriend who waited to be rejoined with her fiancée, other than her big tough Marine, no other man was good enough for her. She used Hank, with him being somewhere on the other side of the Earth, as her excuse not to not even date anyone else. Oddly enough, with the both of us living together and playing our brotherly and sisterly roles, not marrying nor even dating, in the way that I was saving myself for Summer, seemingly my sister was saving herself for Summer too. Just good friends, we were too much in love and too stupid to know that Summer didn't want either one of us in that sexual way. How could we be so stupid to be so enamored by Summer when she was always off sucking and fucking yet another bad man? The hit book and hit movie of the time, I borrowed a line from Erich Segal's Love Story with Ryan O'Neal and Ali McGraw playing in the starring roles, "Love means never having to say you're sorry." Back then, love to me meant never having to say that you're horny and I was always horny whenever around and not around Summer. Always in my thoughts, night and day, she had a way of making me insane with unrequited love and unrequited sexual lust. A different time back then, it's not odd that my sister didn't start out as a lesbian. Chastised by the church, humiliated by their so-called friends, and an embarrassment to their families, gays and lesbians were a social sickness, outcasts in the way of lepers, they were deemed perverted and not normal. Especially with the AIDs epidemic of the eighties, everyone who came out of the closet in the sixties and seventies hid back inside and closed and locked the door. Even after nearly fifty years, nothing has changed and everything remains the same. A cheerleader, and probably in the hopes of hiding the fact that she liked women more, my sister dated lots of men in college. Although ready to marry, her marrying Hank would have been a tragic mistake had she realized later in life that she preferred women to men. Always there in my mind, Summer loomed as large as any unattainable beauty queen. With me coming of age but slowly dying from the unrequited love of Summer, my non-existent love life was as hauntingly disturbing as was Cybill Shepherd's sad role in the Last Picture Show. Tall, busty, and beautiful, Cybill Shepherd reminded me of Summer, especially when she was younger, only Summer was even more beautiful than Cybill Shepard. Summer made me wish that I was older or she was younger. She made me wish that I was rich so that I could sweep her off her feet with my excessively, expensive extravagances. She made me wish that I was influentially powerful so that I could win her heart with my ability to politically get things done and change her life for the better. Yet, invisible, I was a nobody. I was Summer's best friend's kid brother. Immature and lovesick, I was just an 18-year-old, pimply faced kid and she was a 26-year-old beautiful woman. Never meant to be, what chance did I have to be with someone like her? I'd have more of a chance of bedding a movie star like Mia Farrow or a big time news reporter like Diane Sawyer than having a chance to have sex with Summer. Whenever she looked at me, even though she looked right through me, she melted my heart. Whenever she talked to me, spellbound, as if I were Raj Koothrappali in The Big Bang Theory, I couldn't speak. With her Shalimar filling my nose, whenever she touched my hand, my knee, or my shoulder, imagining her touching my cock while I felt her breasts and kissed her, I thought I had died and gone to Heaven. I was so very much in love with her. Wanting the whole world to know that I loved my big sister's best friend, Summer, sadly I never told anyone, not even my sister, my secret love for her best friend. * * * * * There wasn't a day that I didn't masturbate over dating her, kissing her, and making love to her. There wasn't a night that I didn't dream about having sex with her. She was there in my thoughts during every waking moment. What would Summer think about that? What would Summer say about that? What would Summer do if she was here wit me now? What would Summer say about this or about that? Summer, Summer, Summer, all of my thoughts focused on Summer. Hearing her voice and her laughter in my head, I scribbled her name over and again a thousand times. When in college class, instead of listening to my professor pontificating, I doodled Summer, Summer, Summer, when I should have been taking notes. Forsaking all other women my age for Summer, I didn't attend any college dorm parties for fear that she'd think that I was cheating on her. As if we were going steady when we weren't even a romantic couple, I wanted to be faithful to her. Back then, oblivious to how I felt about her, I was nothing more to Summer than her best friend's annoying, little brother. Then, when my sister's boyfriend didn't return home from Viet Nam, blown to bits, figuring that I'd never see Summer again after the empty-coffin funeral, surprisingly she was a regular at the house. I looked forward to her daily visits as if she was coming to my house to see me. The three of us would sit and talk over our coffee. Later that night, I'd take the thoughts of Summer to bed with me while, no doubt, my sister did too. With the both of us lusting over Summer, we were such a sad pair. As if my house was her temple and my sister was her mecca, her personal crusade to make, Summer's daily visits were a continuation of the funeral mourning and conversely a continuity of her brother still being alive. Having made such a large hole in our lives, we all wished her brother was still alive. Having hope against all hope, with the military not finding his body, maybe he wasn't blown to bits after all. Maybe he was still alive, captured, or still hiding somewhere in the jungle while working for the CIA. Maybe falling in love with a Vietnamese, Cambodian, or Laotian woman, he decided to forsake his family and his past and not return home. With a lot of money to be made by a savvy American who knew the language and was familiar with the customs, maybe he was a deserter. Yet, sadly, we knew that he wasn't alive. We knew that he was blown to bits as recapped by the men he led who came by to pay their last respects. Looking at old photos and talking about her brother as if he were about to walk through the front door, my sister was Summer's way for her to be close to her brother and for them to get through their grief. They switched back and forth with Summer comforting my sister and my sister comforting Summer. When one fell weak, the other grew strong. No doubt, but not meant to be, had Hank survived, my sister would have married him and that would have made Summer family. A big mistake had my sister married him, that would have made Summer my sexy, off-limits sister who I would have lusted over night and day but never would have dared touched. I used the opportunity of her daily visits to get to know her better as my personal ammunition to use to romance her later. Intelligent, funny, and witty, I enjoyed talking to her, especially when my sister wasn't around or was upstairs getting ready, in the shower, or out walking the dog. I used our daily conversations as my way to eventually make my move. As my time with her grew, my affection for her deepened and I hoped beyond hope that she felt the same about me as I felt for her. Years later, still vulnerable, still grieving over losing her big brother, still acting out in dating the wrong men, and still attending memorials in his name, I didn't know Hank well enough to grieve over him but I felt bad that the Viet Nam War had claimed another casualty. The best of the best, a one man fighting machine, a United States Marine, loved by all who knew him, he was a good man. To deadly to fight one-on-one, the only way to kill someone like him was to blow him to bits. * * * * * Now 22-years-old, four years after the death of Hank, Summer was a mature 30-year-old, divorced woman. I know she didn't love her husband, whoever he was, some big, bad biker dude. Alone, sad, and vulnerable, she just married him to soothe her pain over losing her brother. Only, I didn't think of her as a divorcee, I just thought of her as Summer, the woman of my dreams and the woman who I loved. Seemingly ageless, she still looked the same as she did the first day I met her, much like a young Mia Farrow albeit with breasts, when she played Allison McKenzie in the TV version of Peyton Place and later when she played Rosemary in Rosemary's Baby. Still coming to the house nearly every day to commiserate with my sister, I hung around not so much to honor her dead brother but because I was hoping to be alone with his beautiful sister. With my feelings about her not changing but growing stronger, even with me not telling her, if only in the way that I looked at her, how could she not know that I was in love with her? Summer, My Sister's Best Friend Whenever she was there with me, pretending that I was her boyfriend and we were visiting my sister, instead of me living with my sister, I'd talk to Summer over coffee as if she was my girlfriend. Apparently, as if afraid to separate from us for fear that her brother would officially be dead, the three of us were always together. Going places together and doing things together, whenever we went to the movies, feeling as if I was dating her, with me on one side of her and my sister on the other side of her, Summer sat in the middle between my sister and me. In a way, I'm glad my sister didn't marry Hank. I wouldn't want my sexual fantasies and dreams sullied by incest, not that we were blood related but it was too close to incest for me to think of Summer as my sexy, off limits sister. Not wanting to spoil my dream by thinking of her as forbidden fruit, I'd much rather think of her as just Summer, my sister's best friend. Actually, after having grown to know her and like her as a person, instead of just as a love interest, she was my best friend too. If even only platonically, I couldn't imagine my life without Summer in it. After years of waiting, it was close to Christmas, 1977, when I was 27-years-old and Summer was 35-years-old that I caught her beneath the mistletoe. As if she was an angel standing there in the soft glow of the Christmas tree light behind her, I was so excited to finally make my move. I couldn't wait to finally tell her how I felt about her. I couldn't wait to take her in my arms and kiss her. Hoping to part her lips with my tongue, I wondered if she'd allow me to slip her my tongue or, perhaps, allow me to even feel her big breasts. My imagination was filled with kissing and kissing her while she reached down to feel my cock through my pants and I reached around her to feel her sweet ass. Alas, not meant to be, my chance to finally kiss her, my sister beat me to the punch. I just stood there with my mouth open in shock. Having had a little too much to drink, Christine came from out of nowhere to wrap one arm around Summer's slim waist before moving her hand down to squeeze her ass and cup her breast with her other hand. Taking Summer by surprise, she locked lips with her best friend and when she tried parting her lips with her tongue, Summer broke away. "Christine! What are you doing?" Seemingly oblivious that my sister was lesbian and had been lusting over her, she looked at my sister in total shock. "I'm not that way Christine. I love you like a sister, not as a lover," she said looking from my sister to look at me with sudden sexual interest. "I'd much rather your brother kiss me and feel my ass and my breast than to kiss you and be felt by you," she said. She looked at me again as if she was about to kiss me or as if she was hoping that I'd kiss her and grope her instead of my sister. Instead, stunned by my sister touching her, feeling her, and kissing her, frozen into inaction by what Summer had just said, I just stood there silently staring as if she was an image that was about to disappear. Instead of professing my love for her, I did nothing. When I should have confessed my feelings for her and when I should have kissed her, I didn't. Her words, "I'd rather your brother kiss me and feel my ass and my breast than to kiss you and be felt by you," echoed in my mind. The shock that I felt by what she said overwhelmed my sexual excitement. I didn't know what to do. Such an awkward moment, I didn't know what to say. I should have told her that I loved her. Having missed my chance, in hindsight, I should have taken her in my arms and kissed her. Then, after kissing her, I should have squeezed her ass and felt her breast but, instead, as if I wasn't interested in her when I was, I did nothing and remaining silent, I said nothing. Running through my head in the way of a runaway freight train gaining speed down a track, her words haunted me for years. What was I thinking? Why didn't I tell her that I loved her and have always loved her. Instead of just standing there, I should have kissed her and I would have kissed her had my sister not kissed her first and ruined my chance. Not wanting to seem like the lecher or the opportunist, a brother and a sister lusting over the same woman, figuring that I'd have another chance one day soon, I allowed my chance to kiss her, hold her, touch her, and feel her to slip through my hands. Having delayed too long, with her in and out of so many relationships, always on the rebound, my timing with her was never right. I'll kiss her tomorrow when she comes to the house, I thought. I'll kiss her the next day if she doesn't come to the house tomorrow. One day soon, when the time is right, I'll get up the courage to kiss her. Then, if she allows me to kiss her, if she accepts my tongue in her mouth, I'll feel her ass through her skirt, fondle her big breast through her blouse, and finger her nipple through her bra. Every night after that fateful day, knowing full well that I'd be kissing her soon, I dreamt of kissing, touching, holding, hugging, and feeling Summer. * * * * * Only and unfortunately, after that fiasco of my sister feeling and kissing Summer, no doubt, uncomfortably embarrassed, Summer didn't come around anymore. In between marriages and before she married another bad man, I lost track of her when she moved out of state. After seeing her and talking to her nearly every day for nine sexually frustrating years, for her to just disappear without even saying goodbye broke my heart. As if her sudden disappearance turned me into a zombie, with her not there to make me smile and give me hope that I'd be with her one day as a couple, I continued living my life just going through the motions. After a while of getting use to my living the rest of my days without Summer, when I figured that I'd never see her again, it was then that I told my sister how I felt about her best friend. Unable to get her out of my mind, I was unable to have a meaningful relationship with any woman other than the brother and sister non-sexual relationship that I had with my sister. I thought she was gone and left with my heart broken forever. Then, when my sister fell ill with breast cancer eight years later, out of the blue and as if she had never left, Summer returned in Christine's time of need to help care for her. A good looking man now, I had packed on some muscle meat. I was thirty-five-years-old then and Summer was forty-three-years-old. She didn't look like any forty-three-year-old woman that I ever saw. She more looked thirty-five-years-old than I did. With her looking younger and me looking older, meeting somewhere in the middle with our middle-aged appearances, we more looked like we belonged together than we did when I was 18 and she was 26. With her no longer riding on the back of motorcycles and wanting bad men, with the both of us more mature, maybe I had a chance with her now. With the timing right, even with my sister so sick, maybe this was my turn to have with Summer. Maybe all along, now that we're older, this was our serendipitous destiny to be thrown together by my sister's deadly illness. Alas, always gone before I came home from work and still able to smell her perfume, Shalimar, as if the essence of her was haunting me, I never got to see her. Now knowing that I loved her, my sister would tell me how she looked and all that she said, but it wasn't nearly the same as seeing her. If only I could see her just once more, I'd ask her if she was happy. With the emptiness of rejection in the pit of my stomach, I figured that maybe she didn't want to see me. Glad that she was there for Christine, I told myself that she wasn't there to see me but to care for my sick sister. Then, one day, with my sister resting comfortably, figuring my sister told her how I felt about her, Summer stayed to wait for me. When I came home from work that fateful day, seemingly as if I was coming home to my wife, she was sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of coffee. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was so surprised. Seemingly as if she had never left, in the way that the three of us sat around the kitchen table talking and drinking coffee, her sitting there and smiling at me comforted me. "Summer," I said wanting to run to her to hold her, hug her, and kiss her. Yet fearing that I'd frighten her into disappearing again in the way my sister did when kissing and feeling her, now that she was here, I didn't want her to leave again. Yet, just as I did eight years before when she told my sister that she'd rather kiss me and have me feel her body than my to have my sister kiss her and feel her body, I just stood there staring at her. So taken by her beauty, I was paralyzed to do anything other than to look at her while imagining being naked and in bed with her. "Hi Stephen," she said. "Have a cup of coffee with me," she said giving me that smile that made me swoon. "We need to talk." Talk? About what? My sister? I already knew that my sister was dying. Maybe she wanted to discuss the funeral arrangements. Maybe wanting to rub another one of her bad boyfriends in my face, she wanted to update me on who she was fucking and sucking now. Seventeen years of lusting over Summer and for what? I never even so much as held her hand, looked deeply in her big, blue eyes, or moved the strands of her blonde hair from her face that always fell in her eyes. Frozen in place as if she was an apparition coming to me in my dream, she stunned me when she stood, walked to me, and put her hands on my hips to give me a pelvis to pelvis dry hug of a hump. Then, as if I was dreaming and as if I was having the sexual fantasy that I had so very many times of kissing her after not kissing her when she stood beneath the mistletoe, she kissed me squarely on the lips. Summer kissed me. I couldn't believe that Summer kissed me. Right then and right there, nothing else mattered. Forgetting everything that happened over the past seventeen years and forgetting everyone in my life but for my sister, the only thing that mattered was that Summer just kissed me. She kissed me. She really kissed me. In all the years I had known her, she never hugged me before. In all the years that I lusted over her, she never kissed before. Even though she didn't try to part my lips with her tongue, I wasn't disappointed by her kiss. Rather, I was sexually stimulated by the feel of her lips against mine. Maybe because I hadn't kissed very many women in my thirty-five years of being a virgin or maybe because it was Summer kissing me and not someone else, never have I been kissed like that before. As if her kiss was meant to be, it was magical. Something that I wouldn't forget for the rest of my life, it was memorable. I heard bells. I heard Heavenly music playing. I heard angels singing. My pulse was racing and my heart was beating as if I had just run and won a marathon. I was in love. "I missed you," she said smiling at me while making eye contact. Finally, looking in my eyes as if looking in my soul, she noticed me. "How've you been?" Not one to allow this opportunity to pass after pining over her for nearly two decades, I took her in my arms and returned her kiss with mine. This time, unlike my sister, she allowed me to part her lips. I French kissed Summer. I was French kissing Summer, my sister's best friend while my sister was dying in her sick bed. I was finally French kissing Summer, the woman of my dreams. Still wearing Shalimar, her perfume carried me away with her lips. "Summer—" "Don't talk now. We'll talk later," she said putting her manicured finger to my lips to look deeply in my eyes. Her look was if her first time seeing me. "I know everything. Christine told me how you feel about me," she said pausing. "I was blind before but I see you now. After being away from you for so long and thinking about you always, I'm ready to love you Stephen, if you still want to love me." Teaching me how to love a woman, she kissed and kissed me while surrendering me her tongue. When I didn't move to touch her for fear that she'd flee in the way that she fled when my sister touched her, she put one of my hands on her ass and my other hand on her breast. This time, unlike my sister, she allowed me to feel her through her short skirt, fondle her breast through her blouse, and finger her emerging nipple through her bra. A dream come true and the woman of my dreams, I was finally kissing and feeling up Summer. "Make love to me Stephen," she said whispering her lust for me in my ear. "Right here?" I looked at her as if she was drunk or crazy and she wasn't either of those things. "Right now?" I was shocked. I felt pressured. Sexually excited but nervous, with her finally calling my bluff, I was a thirty-five-year-old virgin and she was so very sexually experienced. With her being with so many men, I feared that I'd disappoint her by not sexually satisfying her. "Christine is comfortably sleeping. With the medication she's on, she won't awaken for hours," she said. As soon as she humped me, hugged me, and French kissed me, I had an erection. Obviously feeling my cock pushing against her soft stomach, she reached her hand down the front of my jeans to feel my erection through my pants, something I had dreamed about her doing for years. Then, doing something that I only sexually fantasized she'd do while masturbating over having sex with her, she unzipped me while French kissing me. As if I was dreaming and fantasizing the whole experience, I felt her hand reach inside my pants. I felt her fingers feeling my cock through my underwear. Then, she pulled my briefs forward and reached her hand inside my underwear. Summer was feeling my stiff prick while kissing and kissing me and while I felt her beautiful body through her clothes. As if pulling out a gun from a holster, she pulled out my hard cock from my jeans. She kissed me again while fondling the head of my prick with her fingertips and while I squeezed her round ass through her short skirt, felt her big breasts through her blouse, and fingered her erect nipples through her bra. Only this time, with the both of us heating up, everything we did was more passionate than any dream and any sexual fantasy that I ever had of her. Lifting the back of her skirt, I felt her panty clad ass before moving my hand to the front of her to cup her panty clad pussy. Having never seen the impression of her nipples before, I was staring at them while fingering them now. She had huge nipples and I pulled out her erect nipples more through her blouse and bra while she kissed and kissed me as she fondled my cock. I loved feeling her big breasts through her blouse and bra while kissing and kissing her. Then, when she started to stroke my prick to a harder erection, was when she fell to her knees to take me in her mouth. Summer was blowing me. Finally, the love of my life, Summer, was sucking my cock. Something that I dreamt of her doing for seventeen long, sexually frustrating years, she was doing now. I couldn't believe the love of my life, my sister's best friend, was sucking my cock. As if she sucked me for the first time last night instead of forty-five years ago, with the memory of her blowing me permanently etched in my mind, I remember her looking up at me with her bright, blue eyes, while she was poised on her knees with my big, hard, hairy prick in her mouth. All I could do was to look down at her and stare while enjoying the warm, wet sensation of my stiff prick in her mouth. With me still being the virgin that I was, stupidly saving myself for Summer and having never received a blowjob before, I had nothing to compare it to, other than this was the best feeling that I've ever had in my life. All that I could do was to put a gentle hand to the back of her blonde, beautiful head. Not wanting to prematurely cum, I could feel the passion swelling up inside of me. Even though I so wanted to cum in her beautiful mouth, I needed to know what it felt like to cum inside of her pussy before cumming inside of her mouth. As if I was Tarzan and she was Jane or as if I was Superman and she was Lois Lane, I reached down for her, scooped her up in my arms, and carried her to my bedroom. Watching her while not believing she was there in my room, she stood by my bed, while I made myself comfortable. I watched her as she slowly stripped off her clothes. A sexy striptease that has played through my mind for years, I've been waiting nearly twenty years to see her naked. Not wanting to rush her undressing by interrupting her show, I didn't want to miss a thing. As if she was giving me a personal striptease show, I watched her slowly unbutton her blouse while looking at me and watching for my reaction. I watched her remove her blouse and toss it on my bed. Standing there in her sexy, low cut bra and short skirt, unable to control myself from touching her and feeling her, I reached for her and we kissed and kissed while I felt her breasts and fingered her nipples through her bra. So firm yet so soft, she had such a beautiful body. Standing there in her bra and short skirt, I watched her step back from me to unbutton and unzip her skirt. Now standing there in her low cut bra and white bikini panty, we kissed and kissed again while I felt and squeezed her ass through the thin material of her panty before running my hand between her legs to cup her pussy through her panty. She gasped and, with a pent up lust that I've never known, I quivered with sexual excitement. I was feeling Summer's panty clad pussy. My sexual fantasies and dreams come true, I was finally about to have sex with Summer. Then, with her still standing, pulling her to me with my arm wrapped around her waist and my face resting against her bra clad breasts, I pushed her panty aside with my finger. Testing the water, something I've only done in my dreams, I felt her warm wetness. I remember her being so very wet. Having never fingered a woman's pussy before, I was stunned that she'd be so wet. I even remember thinking that she peed herself but she hadn't peed herself. She was too thickly, sweetly, sticky for that. Finally, Summer was wet for me. Finally, Summer wanted me as much as I wanted her. Just as Summer had made me hard, I had made Summer wet. Just in case she changed her mind about me after we had sex, trying to record every image and every sensation of feeling in my mind, after seventeen long years of waiting for Summer to notice me, I wanted to remember this day forever. Not wanting to let her go, never wanting to let her go, I couldn't stop kissing her, touching her, and feeling her. Then, with the both of us on the bed, she started undressing me. Once I was naked, inexperienced in making love to a woman, she showed me what to do to make love to her. Seemingly, at first, she didn't know that I was a virgin but I was. She didn't know that I had been saving myself for her but I had. If I thought her blowjob was amazing, it paled in comparison to the first time that my cock parted her pussy lips. Kissing and kissing her while on top of her, I felt her hand reach down for me. Not wanting to rush things, taking my time, I wanted to make sweet love to her instead of fucking her. To this day, I remember the warm gush that I felt when my cock penetrated her and slowly slid in deeper. If this is what it feels like to make love to Summer, I was glad that I waited. Slowly I humped her while she humped me. No record setter, being that I was the first time that I ejaculated in a woman, she got me off within only a few minutes. Instead of rolling off of her and instead of rolling over to go to sleep, as if she was the best ride at the amusement park, I wanted to make love to her again and again. We made love all night. In between making love to her, I fucked her. I pounded her with all the pent up lust that I had saved for her. Now after making love to Summer, I was fucking Summer, really fucking her and she was fucking me really fucking me. Summer, My Sister's Best Friend A sweaty mess, we showered and, in between my sister waking up and falling back to sleep, we had sex all over again as if it was the first time again. Every time we had sex was as if it was the first time. Every time she got me off with her mouth or her pussy, I got her off with my finger, my tongue, and my cock. As if this was our Honeymoon, Summer stayed the night and every night thereafter. * * * * * Not long after my sister's funeral, I married Summer that summer. I think my sister would have approved that I married her best friend, her fiancée's sister. Moreover, it's appropriate that I married Summer in the summer of '85 being that I met her in the summer of '68, seventeen years ago. We remained married for 28 wonderful years, until her death this summer. With so much that's happened during the summertime, it's appropriate that Summer died in the summer. Still that eight year age difference that set us apart in the beginning but that didn't matter in the end, no longer looming as large, she was 71-years-old when she died and I'm now 63-years-old. Being that we always kidded one another about our ages, if I live another eight years, we'll finally be the same age. I hope that I live at least another eight years, old enough to be the same age or older than Summer. My life won't be the same without Summer. A big piece of me is missing. Yet, if I waited this long to have her, I can wait a little longer to be with her again. I know my angel will be waiting for me in Heaven. I bought her a good grave plot on a hill beneath a tree, resting in peace next to Christine, her best friend, and next to me, her husband and the true love of her life, when I die. I go there every Sunday to spend time with her. As if she's still there talking to me and she is, I still love talking to her while having my coffee. I bring a thermos of coffee and pour her a cup. Fortunately for me, adding to my fantasy that she's still alive, as if she's still here with me, my daughter, the spitting image of her mother, comes with me to visit her mother's grave. The only woman more beautiful than my wife is my twenty-six-year-old daughter, Summer. THE END This is a Summer Lovin' contest story. Please vote.