8 comments/ 17462 views/ 4 favorites Auld Langsyne By: slyc_willie (Author's note: This story is dedicated to singer/songwriter Dan Fogelberg, who passed away on December 16th, 2007, due to prostate cancer. He was 56. The song "Same Old Lang Syne" has always been a favorite of mine, and it is upon this song that the following story is based. I hope you enjoy.) *** For the first time in my life, I was not looking forward to Christmas. Jaclyn and I had separated five months before, following almost a decade of marriage. We didn't split because of infidelity; I had never cheated on my wife, and to my knowledge, neither had she ever been unfaithful. We had just lost the magic, and we knew it. "Sir?" The clerk's voice startled me slightly as she spoke from the other side of the deli counter. She was indicating the pile of thinly-sliced turkey upon the deck of her slicer, a questioning look on her face. "That's fine," I said, then forced a smile. "Just that, and the Muenster." I tossed the two plastic bags into the basket I held, which already contained a jar of sliced pickles, two beefsteak tomatoes, a jar of spicy mustard, and a loaf of potato bread. The following day, I knew, I would be gastronomically spoiled by Mom's traditional Yuletide feast. For the evening, however, I simply wanted a good, old-fashioned 'sammich.' And a beer. Or three. Those I already had, chilling in the fridge in my apartment. The massive grocery store was bustling with last-minute shoppers getting those 'damn, I can't believe I forgot' items, as well as depressingly familiar sad-sacks such as I, who had no sexy Christmas elf to go home to. Not that Jaclyn would have ever dressed up as an elf. Our sex life had been pretty vanilla, to be honest. Pattern of my life. I wandered around the aisles, looking at displays of various 'special items' on sale. I chuckled ruefully as I passed a bulk stack of three-foot-tall artificial Christmas trees, complete with lights and tinsel. I had not graced my simple one-bedroom apartment with holiday decorations; that seemed a pathetic gesture to me. But for a moment, I considered the tree-in-a-box. I had never had a Christmas without flashing green and red lights in the living room. It seemed a shame to abandon such a tradition, even though I now lived alone. As I contemplated the stack of trees, another man, about my age, perhaps a few years older, approached and hesitantly took up one of the boxes, placing it in the cart he pushed. Eerily, I noticed that the other contents of his cart almost perfectly matched mine, except he had a twelve-pack of light beer as well. "Never thought I'd ever get one of these stupid things," he said sourly, not looking to me as he spoke. "But, hey . . . it's Christmas, right? Even if the bitch left me." The squeaking of the wheels on his shopping cart seemed to be the only sound in the world for a few seconds. I watched the guy trundle away, thinking how . . . sad he was. Dejected. Morose. And then I realized I wasn't much different. I looked back to the stack of tiny artificial trees, tasting something sour that rose up from my throat. No . . . that's not me. I made my way back through the aisles, wanting to get home and make a world-class sandwich, pop a beer, and pretend to enjoy sitting on the couch in my underwear with crumbs on my chest while watching some lame show on TV that my wife hated. And then, suddenly, in the Sauces and Pasta aisle, there she was. I passed right by her, barely noticing the soft, sunshine-colored hair above a slender frame wrapped in a beige jacket. I caught a whiff of perfume, something faint but sweet and flowery. It enticed me, making me glance back over my shoulder. I only saw her face in profile, framed by soft, curling wisps of light golden hair. However, there could be no mistaking that round little nose, the way she nibbled her lower lip as she considered the merchandise before her. I found myself staring, stopping in my tracks. I blinked a few times, wondering if it really was her. "Angie?" She looked up, turning her face toward me, that cute little furrow forming between her ethereal brows. Her eyes were just as blue as I remembered, and they stared at me for a long moment before suddenly flashing open wide, accompanying a broad smile which revealed fine, alabaster teeth. "Dan? Holy shit!" I smiled back, unable to keep myself from looking her over. It had been over a dozen years, yet Angie looked almost exactly as I remembered her. She had gained a little weight, but not much; her face looked a bit fuller, her hips a tad roomier. She still looked great in jeans. "Wow," was all I could say. For a moment, we just stared at one another, neither of us able to speak. In the space of an instant, my mind flashed back to our senior year in high school. Holding hands in the halls as we went to class. Laughing and joking as Angie sat on my lap in the cafeteria. Sharing our first kiss at the Homecoming Dance . . . . "So . . . how've you been?" she asked, still beaming. "Wow! Look at you! Been keeping in shape, huh?" I blushed, shaking my head at this strange coincidence. The last time I had seen my high school sweetheart had been at graduation. Now, here we were, face to face in a grocery store, twelve years later. Just like that. "Um . . . good," I said at last. "Ups and downs. You know how it is." She nodded, eyes glittering. Jesus, even in the stark, fluorescent light of a supermarket aisle, Angie still had that ability to look radiant. I had a hard time seeing the thirty-year-old woman before me as anything other than a cherubic, skinny young cheerleader who loved chili-cheese fries and Aerosmith. "Yeah," she said, her initial exuberance fading, replaced by . . . something. Nostalgia, I assumed, since I was feeling the same thing. Her eyes darted down to my left hand briefly. "So, um . . . you got married." I smiled, somewhat painfully. "Uh, yeah. Nine years." I noticed a good-sized rock on Angie's finger. "You, too." Her cheeks colored. She shrugged. "It's nice, isn't it? Having someone to come home to." I pursed my lips a moment. It was . . . "Sure is." We just stared at each other, sharing another of those awkward moments before we both laughed self-consciously. "Hey, uh . . . so how was Baylor?" Angie rolled her eyes. "Not worth the tuition," she said with a dry laugh. "Really, it was all right. That's where I met Sam, so I guess it was worth it." "Sam . . . your husband?" Angie nodded. She blushed again. "He, uh . . . he was one of my professors." I chuckled, clucked my tongue. "Bad girl," I said playfully. "No, it wasn't like that," she said, then looked away slyly. "Okay, I had a crush on him when I took his Psych class, but we didn't start seeing each other until after I graduated." She rolled her shoulders in, giving me a coy look that simultaneously seemed a little sultry. "I was a good girl in college." I laughed softly. "You look good, Angie. Really. Your husband's a lucky man." Angie's eyes dipped slightly. "Yeah, um . . . ." she laughed self-consciously. I had a rare moment's understanding. The memories were infecting both of us, and while the nostalgia was pleasant, there remained that feeling of . . . what if. We both felt it, and it was dangerous. Not so much for me, but apparently a serious threat for her. I took a step back. "Good seeing you, Angie," I said. Her last look upon me was wistful, perhaps even regretful. "Yeah. You, too." *** The bag felt heavier in my hand than it should have been as I trudged out to my car. The parking lot of the supermarket was a sea of grey slush. Fresh white snowflakes fluttered down like intermittent butterflies from the cloudy sky overhead, sticking to my face and making my hair damp. What would have otherwise been a pleasant 'winter wonderland' scene was instead annoying to me. Well, ain't that a kick in the head, I thought, fishing out my keys as I neared my car. I get kicked to the curb by my wife, lose my business, and now I meet my first love in a grocery store, who's happily married. Thanks, God. Thanks a whole fucking bunch. "Dan! Dan! Hey!" I looked around over the roof of my car, finally seeing Angie bouncing up and down beside a silver mini-van, the sliding door open. I suddenly wondered if she had kids. Angie jogged around the cars between us, her light-toned hair becoming dark as snowflakes fell into it. She stopped a few paces from me, eyes wide and bright. "This is stupid," she said. I frowned. "What is?" "This! Us!" she cried, thrusting her hands out before her. "Jesus, Dan, we haven't seen each other since high school graduation, and all we can do is say, 'have a good life?'" I let out a short, harsh laugh. "Well, to be honest, it hasn't been all that great," I said, leaning on the slippery, slush-covered roof of my car. Angie smiled sympathetically. "You wanna get a drink?" I laughed for a long moment, then nodded. "Sure." *** Christmas Eve. Wouldn't you know it? Most of the bars were actually closed, at least in the particular area of town we were in. I left my car at the supermarket parking lot and rode shotgun in Angie's comfortable mini-van. I noticed a few scattered toys, of the variety that belonged to toddlers and infants, laying on the floorboard and in the back seat. There was a child's car seat in the middle row behind me. "How many kids?" I asked, after Angie had parked the van at the end of a business park. We had managed to find a liquor store that was open, and I had picked up a six-pack of Hefe-Weisen. "Two," Angie said, sipping her beer. She glanced to me with a sheepish smile. "Curt's four, and Tracy just turned one a month ago." "Congratulations," I said, holding out my bottle. Angie tapped hers against mine, and we drank again. "You?" she asked. "Got any kids?" I shook my head. "We found out a few years ago that Jaclyn can't have kids," I said. I let out a short laugh. "And trust me, we were trying." Angie smiled broadly at first, but it faded. "I'm sorry." I shrugged, watching snow flakes falling on the hood of the mini-van. "I'm still young," I said. "You're not with her anymore, are you?" I sighed at Angie's question, looking down at the bottle in my hands. "We're . . . separated," I said. She settled her hand on my arm. Her skin was cold at first, but the contact sent a warm rush through me, reminding me of heady, passionate nights in which Angie and I – repeatedly – nearly consummated our relationship. "I'm, sorry, Dan." I took a breath, smiled upon my first love. "Not every relationship can be perfect, right?" Angie's eyes softened, glistening wetly as vicarious tears formed upon them. Or maybe they weren't vicarious. "Not too many are," she said. *** ". . . he's a kid!" exclaimed Angie an hour later, as we were finishing our second beers. "Sixteen years old, and he's actually hitting on me!" I laughed, took another swig from my beer. "Hey, can't blame a kid for trying," I said. "At least he had good taste." Angie shot me a look. "Think I wanna end up on the Today Show, another teacher who boffed one of her students?" I shook my head, still grinning with mirth. "And you always said you were going to be a psychologist." Angie huffed, tilting back her beer. "Sometimes, I am," she said. A forlorn look crossed her face. "Jeez, Dan, these kids . . . I mean, even at my school . . . these kids come from good homes, rich homes, most of them . . . but they're still fucked up. I feel like I'm their mother half the time. Or, not even their mother. More like a sex counselor." "What do you mean?" Angie fell back in her seat, cradling the beer bottle against her chest. She had opened her jacket, since the heat was running in the van, revealing a baby blue blouse underneath. I noticed that her breasts had gained a cup size. They were no longer the perky little buds on her chest that I remembered. "Last year, one of my freshman girls came up to me after class. Asked me what a blow job was. Turns out her boyfriend pretty much gave her an ultimatum. Full-on sex or a blow job." I shook my head. "Damn. What'd you tell her?" "What could I?" Angie practically shouted. "I can't tell one of my students what a blow job is! I could get fired, lose my certification!" "So . . . ." I prodded. Angie shrugged, breathing in deeply through her nostrils. "I told her to talk to her mother," she said. "And, I told her that any boy who gives an ultimatum like that isn't worth her time." "So what happened?" I asked, finishing my beer. Automatically, I took the last two from the case and popped the tops. Angie shook her head. "I get a call, three days later, from the girl's mother, telling me I have no right suggesting oral sex as a means for a girl to keep her virginity. She wouldn't listen to a thing I had to say, and obviously didn't listen to her daughter. She just wanted to blame me for being the person her daughter came to when she needed answers. Stupid bitch." I couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, obviously, you didn't lose your job over it." "Almost," Angie said. "Had to go through 'arbitration and interview.' I was cleared, but Mrs. Albright still demanded a transfer for her daughter to a different school. The girl was crying that last day in class, telling me I was her favorite teacher. That just about broke my heart, Dan." I was silent for a moment, contemplating my beer. "I'm not a teacher, but I know it's not an easy job." It was a long time before Angie said anything. We sipped our beers quietly, staring out at the world as the snowfall became thicker, practically obscuring the world around us. "Dan?" I watched Angie as she finished her beer and accepted the fresh one from me. She curled her legs up on the seat, turning to face me. Her eyes were glowing like bright blue flames. I felt something thick in my throat as I tried to swallow. "Yeah?" "I still think about Prom Night, sometimes," she said. I smiled, staring back. "I do, too." She studied me for what seemed like an eon, her eyes darting around my face. "We could have," she said at last. I nodded, feeling a pang of regret. "Yeah, we could have." Angie took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "You know, it's funny," she said. "I think about that night, making out in your crappy little Honda—" I laughed, a nervous reaction, but said nothing as she continued. "—I mean, you knew I wanted to, right?" Now it was my turn to take a breath. The circumstances of that night, of my decision, ranked amongst my Top Ten of failed opportunities. I nodded, slowly, hesitantly. "I knew." "But . . . you didn't want to?" I rolled my head toward her, meeting her bright, beautiful blue eyes. "That's just it," I said. "I wanted to. But not in my car. Not like every other girl in the world." Angie stared at me, her eyes a little red, her cheeks soft and full and flushed. Jesus, was she sexy at that moment. Sexy and beautiful, the girl of my dreams having grown into the woman of my dreams. "I never felt like just any girl in the world with you, Dan," she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I wish you had known that, then. It didn't matter where . . . I wanted my first time to be with you." Her words stung. In high school, I'd heard all the time about having sex in a car. That was how it was done. But it was so typical, I figured. And Angie was too special. So, that night after Prom, I had stopped things when they became too hot. And Angie had figured I spurned her. She broke up with me a week later. "I wanted you," I said truthfully. "I just figured you deserved more than . . . doing it in a car. Maybe, if I'd thought ahead—" "Dan." I gritted my teeth, staring down at my bottle. "What." I heard her move, felt her fingertips brush my chin. I flinched slightly, but quickly gave in to her touch, closing my eyes as Angie caressed my face. She leaned close – her perfume washed over me, and I could feel the heat of her body – and brushed my ear with her lips. "Let's pretend it's Prom Night," she whispered. My heart began racing. Automatically, I slipped my hand to her hip, feeling the gentle firmness beneath. Our faces were inches apart. I could smell the sweetness of the beer on her lips. We were too close to actually look into one another's eyes, and that closeness brought back all those memories of fumbling nights and heavy petting. I was getting hard already, in anticipation of finally consummating, after more than a dozen years, my love for my first girlfriend. But . . . . I took her hand. "You're married." "Not tonight, I'm not," she whispered. I didn't stop her, nor did I retreat as she pressed her lips lightly to mine with a soft, yearning moan. That singular kiss made up my mind, and I pulled Angie to me, across the gap between our seats. Angie moaned as she settled herself upon me, fumbling with her jacket. I slipped the garment off her shoulders, never breaking our kiss as it escalated in passion. Angie was hungrily sucking on my lips and tongue, making it clear she wanted me. Angie pulled back, just a little, so she could see my face and catch her breath. Her eyes flickered, and she looked dazed. I could imagine she felt a hint of doubt at that moment, but it vanished as she smiled devilishly. "Let's get in the back," she suggested. I trembled a little, following the woman who, as a teenager, I had once called 'Imp' because she was so mischievous. Just as Angie had gone from teenager to adult, I wondered if the 'imp' had become a succubus. I didn't care. I had been a fool to turn her down once; I was not going to be a fool again. Angie crawled between the captain's chairs to the middle bench seat, necessarily stopped over so that her firm and well-formed ass was placed on display for my appraisal. Angie had always possessed an incredible ass, but never had I been in a position to see it from quite that angle, not so close, at any rate. Arousal spiked as I realized I would finally have the chance to see it uncovered. She fumbled with the baby carrier for a moment, unhooking the seatbelt that kept it secure. Her fingers were slightly shaking, telling me she was as nervous as I. Angie did not look at me as she pushed the baby carrier up and over the back of the seat, out of sight. For a moment, she just sat there as I crouched on the floor of the mini-van. "Angie—" I began. "Don't talk me out of it," she said simply, looking into my eyes at last. "Jesus, Dan . . . you know what?" "What." "I thought about you, when we drove in the other day. Soon as we passed the theater we always went to, I thought about you." She smiled slightly, the blush returning. I smiled, as well. "Toy Story," I said, remembering. "I still can't believe we did that." Angie's eyes glowed again. "Sam wanted to get that movie for the kids," she said. "I told him no, that I hated the movie. I mean, I couldn't exactly tell him that, every time I see it, I remember jacking off my first boyfriend in the theater." Her words, and the memory, only made my cock harden even more. "Sometimes, that seems like last week, when I think about it," I said. Angie smoothed her hands upon her jeans, licked her lips seductively. "As far as I'm concerned, right now," she said. "It was last week. And I want to do a lot more than give you a hand job." She slid to her knees on the floor, lifting her hands to unbutton her blouse. I watched her trembling fingers, her moist, parted lips, her intense eyes. She opened the blouse, slipped baby blue fabric from her shoulders. Her bra was white lace, through which, thanks to the glow of a street lamp outside, I could just make out the dark rose of her nipples. Auld Langsyne "God, you're beautiful," I muttered, rolling forward onto my knees and taking Angie in my arms. She melted against me easily, accepting my kisses. For long moments, neither of us said a word. The only sounds were of wet lips and wanton moans. My jacket fell behind me, my shirt was pulled over my head. Angie buried her head in my chest, licking and nipping my nipples. My head was spinning, my cock throbbing. Never had I wanted a woman as much as I desired Angie at that moment. She licked and kissed her way down my stomach, hands busy as they massaged the bulge in my jeans and caressed between my thighs. Every touch was electric. I ran my hands through her hair, then down her slender back. The way she was bent over, her jeans had slid down her hips a little, revealing some of the soft flesh of her cheeks. I noticed she had a little tattoo at the small of her back, a pair of multi-colored birds facing each other. Probably gotten during her college years. My fingers found the clasp for her bra just as Angie began uncoiling the belt from around my waist. I freed the snap, and her bra straps slid down her arms. But not until my belt hung loose and the zipper was fully lowered on my slacks did Angie straighten and let her bra fall to the floor of the car. "You like?" she asked coyly, cupping her breasts. Motherhood had made them larger, and her nipples had become impressive, dark puffies that stood out on thick pink mounds. Angie pinched her distended nipples, drawing them out, then letting then snap back into place. "Very much," I muttered, then descended upon them, engulfing one of her nipples, including the entirety of the areola, in my mouth. Angie hissed, threading my hair through her fingers, sighing loudly as I sucked deeply. She gasped and quivered when my teeth grazed the hard nub, so I bit down, gently at first, then applying a little more pressure. "Dan!" she cried. "Oh my God . . . ." I groaned – more like a growl, I suppose – pushing Angie back and lifting her up so that she sat on the bench seat. I released the nipple I had been sucking, went for the other one. Angie squirmed and moaned – I would never have thought she would be such an aggressive lover – and slipped her hand down inside my slacks, finding my engorged cock. She tugged and stroked it, fluttering her fingers along the shaft and down to my balls. "Baby . . . baby, come up here," she breathed heatedly. "I wanna do what I should have done in the theater." I lifted my head, licking my lips. "What's that?" Angie smiled broadly, stroking my cock slowly with a squeezing grip. "I wanna suck it," she declared. My dick throbbed in her hands. "Do you, now?" I asked. Angie nodded. "Uh-huh," she muttered, pulling on my dick, wanting me to lift up. So I did, getting to my feet, leaning over Angie's head and bracing my hands on the seat back. My lover's head obscured my view, but the feel of her slick lips, questing tongue, and hot breath bathing my cock was Heaven enough. Angie moaned around my shaft as she sucked ardently, using her hands in tandem to massage my length and caress my balls. I settled a hand to her head, loving the way she bobbed back and forth. The wet sucking and slurping sounds she made were incredibly arousing, making my cock twitch and leak pre-cum onto her eager tongue. I couldn't help but pump my hips, feeding her inch after inch of my cock, relishing the hot, caressing motions of her mouth. I would have been happy to let her get me off that way, but for some reason, that thought alone made me feel selfish. I didn't want to be pleasured by Angie, not after so long, without giving it back in turn. I pulled back – a great effort on my part – and watched my glistening cock slip from her swollen, wet lips. She looked up to me, questioningly and perhaps a bit anxious. I smiled, touching her chin. "I want to taste you, too," I whispered. Angie smiled, expelling warm, sweet breath. I slid back down to my knees, engaging my first love in passionate kisses while our fingers fumbled with one another's around the top of her jeans. Our shared excitement and awkwardness made Angie giggle, reminding me of the girl she had been so many years before. But the sultriness of a mature woman returned as Angie lifted her hips, letting me slide her jeans down to her ankles. Her sex was covered with loose, lacy panties, and even with the dim light, I could make out a few wisps of golden hair peeking around the edges of the gusset, catching the stark street light. I breathed in, stemming my urge to bury my face between her thighs and taste the heavenly treat I knew awaited me there. But I didn't want to rush it. I wanted to savor it, just as I savored the womanly aroma reaching out to me as I slipped Angie's boots from her feet and removed her jeans completely. "Jesus, you're gorgeous," I murmured, looking upon Angie in her near-nudity. At eighteen, she had been shy and apprehensive about letting me even see her breasts; now, as a woman, she displayed herself openly and without shame, sliding her hands from the tops of her thighs, up over a somewhat soft but still youthful stomach, to her firm, womanly breasts. She stared at me, enjoying the effect she had upon me, while pulling and tugging on her nipples. "Get your clothes off, baby," she whispered. "I've wanted so long to know what you look like naked." I smiled, shifting on my knees while slipping off my shoes and slacks. My cock remained hard, jutting out from beneath my abdomen, and once I was naked, I took it in my hand and began lightly stroking it. Angie's eyes became fixated on it, her lips parted, chest rising and falling as she breathed. "Oh, God, that's hot," she whispered, slipping a hand into her panties, caressing her pussy. I watched her fingers move beneath the silky material of the undergarment. I could just hear the faint wet sounds of her fingers massaging her pussy. "Stroke it for me. Stroke your cock, baby." I could not ever remember feeling so lost in the moment, so totally given to passion, as I felt then. Angie was all at once the teenaged girl I once knew and loved, and the mature woman I was falling in love with all over again. I pumped my cock more firmly, leaning back a bit so the shadow of my body did not obscure her view. "I wanna see you naked, too," I told her. Angie smiled, eyes twinkling. "Yeah?" I nodded, nudging a little closer, until I was just between her widespread knees. "Yeah. Show it to me, Angie." "'It?'" she queried, the naughty smile growing. "Just what is it that you want to see, Dan?" I matched her mischievous look. "Your pussy, Angie," I said, feeling cock twitch in my hand. My fingers were becoming slick as I stroked myself. "I wanna see your pussy." She breathed in sharply, pinching one of her nipples hard as she rolled her hips against her hand. I thought she was on the verge of climax, yet Angie slipped her hand from her panties and lifted her legs, bringing them together. She rolled back until her knees settled on her chest, and peeled the slinky garment up from her hips, along her toned, sleek thighs to her calves. I stared, enraptured by the sight of Angie's naked sex. She trimmed, just a little, a classic bikini shave, leaving wispy, nearly invisible hairs along puffy vulva, with a few ghostly curls surrounding her pink anus. She was clearly wet; the hair was slightly matted, and the bottom of her slit was open just a little, from which clear fluid had leaked to make her perineum shine. With a parting of her legs, Angie casually tossed the panties aside, and hooked her little ankle sock-clad feet behind my shoulders. "Take a good, close look, baby," she urged me with a wanton whisper. I tried not to groan as I allowed Angie to pull me down with her legs. As I lowered myself between her thighs, they splayed wide open, the lips of her pussy separating stickily. Her pubic hair was fine, a little sparse atop her mound and along her outer lips, glowing with the color of fresh honey. I encircled her hips with my arms. Lowered myself on the floor. Inhaled deeply of her scent. Heaven. Pure heaven, I thought, my senses near to overload. Then I parted my lips, opened my mouth, and descended . . . . "Oh, Dan!" she gasped, arching her back, scratching the seat on either side of her hips with her short nails. She pushed her sex against my mouth as I sucked as much of her tender, sweet flesh as I could. Her legs spread wide, nearly perpendicular to her body, and she stared down at me with a desperate, nearly driven look. I stared back, shaking my head slowly, pulling on her lips, questing inside her with my tongue. "Baby, Oh, God . . . just . . . just eat me . . . eat me like that . . . oh . . . ." She started shaking, her eyes closing, a sort of pained expression crossing her face. The way she shook, the way her eyes dripped, it was obvious she was crying. But, crying from passion? Or . . . perhaps guilt? For whatever reason, I didn't stop, even as I watched Angie's tortured, contorted face. Her body, at the least, wanted the pleasure I gave her. She rhythmically pushed her hips out toward me, almost roughly at times, urging me to suck the rich, bittersweet flow that trickled out from within her. Her head thrashed back and forth, strands of blonde hair streaking across her face and sticking to her lips. Hot puffs of breath escaped her mouth, sounding more labored by the moment. Finally, she slapped her hands to the back of my head, crying out in what could have been anguish or passion – or perhaps both – as she came. I covered her pussy with my mouth, sucking hard, rubbing her needy clit with the flat of my tongue. Her inner muscles clenched and relaxed, clenched and relaxed, and I felt the faintest spurt of semisweet juice as it burst against my probing tongue. For a long moment, I kissed and licked her inner thighs, unsure of how to proceed, or even if I should. I caressed Angie's body, feeling the quivering tensions of her muscles beneath the skin. Taking my time lapping up the sweet effusion from the insides of taut thighs and the soft cheeks beneath her sex, I let Angie come down from her high. "D-Dan . . . ." I glanced up to her face, seeing the rosy glow on her cheeks, the glassy look in her eyes. Tenderly, I kissed her slick clit. "Yeah." "Lay back, baby," she whispered huskily, sitting up and pushing against my shoulders. Passive to what Angie wanted, I turned so that I could lay on the floor of the mini-van, between the captain's chairs and the middle bench seat. There was not much room, but enough, apparently, as Angie swung her leg over me, positioning herself in a sixty-nine. I honestly did not care about the facets of adultery, the fact that Angie and I were both betraying sacred vows we had sworn to others. Perhaps I was separated, but I was not divorced, and Angie remained dutifully married. None of that mattered. In fact, at that moment, we were not a man and a woman married to other people, we were eager and loving high school sweethearts, reveling in the pleasures and passion we could devote to one another. Angie moaned constantly, low, faint sounds muffled due to the fact that she was sliding her slick mouth up and down my cock with all the hungry abandon of a starving artist at a monarch's feast. I grunted and gasped with the sensations she gave me, especially once, after several shallow plunges, she pushed all the way down, working my cock into her throat. The feeling was dazzling and dazing, making me dig my fingers into the fleshy globes her tight, round ass. The fact that I could feel her chin grazing my lower abdomen was mind-numbing. Angie slid back up, off my cock, panting for breath while masturbating my stiff rod at a desperate, aggressive pace. She licked all around the head, sucking it now and then into her mouth, pumping my cock feverishly all the while. Her frantic ministrations made it difficult for me to concentrate on licking her. But Angie, it seemed, wanted my orgasm more than she wanted hers. "Cum for me, baby," she hissed in a seething, whimpering voice. "Come on, baby, do it! Do it for me! Yeah, I want it! Give it to me! Oh, God, baby!" And then the words were gone, replaced by loud, insistent sucking, her lips smacking along my cock, her tight fist pumping my shaft. Her other hand cradled my balls, middle finger massaging the corded muscle between testicles and anus. She took me deep again and again, encasing the head of my cock in the tight tunnel of her throat. My body was shaking almost violently by that point. My cock was hot and hard in her mouth, more rigid than it had ever been. I had never felt such a powerful orgasm wash through me before. For a brief moment, I nearly felt like I was dying. I'm sure I must have cried out something, some sort of ridiculous, vague religious reference, before latching my mouth to Angie's saturated pussy and erupting between her lips. My cock burned with the fierceness of a volcano, yet it was an intensely pleasurable heat, one I had never experienced before. I must have passed out for a few moments, I figure. I remember taking deep breaths as I heaved beneath Angie's body, resting atop mine, and feeling her tongue licking around the base of my cock. I listened her soft sighs and murmurs. Licking. Panting. Smacking. Swallowing. Over and over . . . . "A-Angie," I managed to say. "Hmm?" she responded, gently kissing the tumescent length of my cock, then licking around the head. "I . . . um . . . uh . . . kiss me . . . ." She let out a girlish giggle, then uncurled her leg, shifting around until she was atop me. For a moment, I gazed upon her sublime face, cheeks glowing, eyes glittering almost drunkenly. Her mouth was wet, the corners decorated with frothy white bubbles. I didn't care. I pulled her to me, kissing hungrily, sucking my own essence from her lips and tongue. Angie responded quickly, her fire once again stoked by my passion. She writhed and rolled upon me, framing my hips with her thighs, pressing her soaked pussy to my slowly-reviving cock. "I hope we're not done," I managed to get out between heated kisses. Her eyes blazed. "No," she said firmly. "We're not." I grunted and sighed as Angie slid down my body, hungrily engulfing my cock once more. She sucked and pulled, using mouth and hands in tandem. Whatever she might have missed from my previous orgasm, she certainly devoured as she sucked and licked all over. I found myself responding with near supernatural virility, especially once Angie's mouth latched to my balls, her hands caressing my slick shaft. Her passion refueled me. I sat up, taking her head in my hands, thick, soft blonde hair tangled in my fingers. Reluctantly, Angie released my balls from her wet, dripping mouth, looking upon me with a glazed expression. We weren't thinking by that point. We were passionate animals, wanting only each other. I hoisted Angie back onto the bench seat, taking her ankles in my hands and holding her legs wide apart. She reached for my hips, fingers digging into the cheeks of my ass, guiding my once again stiff cock inside her. We both sighed loudly at our first and delicious union. Her pussy gripped and sucked me in, bathing my cock with the intense heat and passion of her body. For a long moment, I trembled, relishing the moment, the sensation, the . . . love. Then I started moving. Easing back, conscious of every minute ripple of Angie's slick, snug pussy around my cock, the fluttering of her butterfly lips. Pushing in, sucking in breath as the heat and tightness increased with every millimeter I plunged. Angie's hands caressed my face and neck. I sucked a finger as it wandered close to my mouth. Neither of us could say a thing as I thrust, and she pushed. Our eyes locked now and then, sharing a plethora of emotion neither of us would ever fully comprehend. Those long, timeless moments were gloriously raw, yet also incredibly tender. We fucked and made love. Took and also shared. I wished – and believe she did as well – that it would never end. But the almost violent rush hit us both at the same time, bringing us back to the physical moment. I'm sure the howl I emitted was the most guttural and animalistic roar of triumph I would ever feel tear from my breast, just as the shrieking cries and gasps coming from Angie were the most intense she had ever known. I buried myself deeply, feeling her body sucking from me the gift which I poured into her womb. So intense was that moment, I believe I could have described God . . . had I been able to speak. *** The car hummed, the engine cycling now and then as the heater kept us warm. Angie and I cuddled in the middle seat, arms and legs wrapped about each other, sharing soft kisses and grateful, loving smiles. Our bodies were sweaty and shone beneath the harsh light the illuminated the windows. Angie's smile was the most beautiful image in the world to me, especially since I knew that I was the reason for it. "Angie?" "Yeah." "This was the beast Prom I've ever been to." She giggled affectionately, clutched me in a tight embrace. "Oh, God, Dan . . . I'll never stop being in love with you." I stroked her back, her outer thigh. "I wish . . . I wish I hadn't been so stupid—" "Baby, don't," she whispered, tugging softly on the hair on my chest. I felt her shudder. "We can't go back. You know that." I nodded reluctantly, kissed the top of her head. "And we can't start over." Angie lifted her head, sniffling once. Her eyes brimmed with tears. I realized mine were, as well. "No." "Does he take care of you?" I asked. Tears dripped down her cheeks. "I . . . I wish I could say I love him," she said, her voice barely audible. "But I guess it's enough that he keeps me warm and safe and dry." I pulled her face toward mine, pressed my lips to hers in a long, sweet kiss. "I'll always love you, Angie." She shuddered with emotion. "I'll always love you, Dan." *** Time had gotten the better of us. Angie had to get home, to her husband, her children, her life. I told her to drop me off at the edge of the grocery store parking lot. I could walk the rest of the way to my car. Slipping out of the silver mini-van, I turned before the open door and faced my first love. I felt awkward. "I wish I had something . . . poignant to say." Angie nodded, her jaw set as she held back more tears. Her eyes were visibly swollen and red. "Me, too," she forced out, giving me a forlorn look. I drew in a shuddering breath, watching the snowflakes falling all around us. "I love you, Angie." She sputtered a little, then covered her mouth, staring at me as she tried not to let the flood of her emotion spill out. "I love you, too." I reached in, took her hand. "Merry Christmas, baby." She shook, then, the tears finally flooding down her face. "M-Merry Christmas." *** I rolled my shoulders, flipping up the collar of my jacket as I trudged back across the parking lot to my car. The flakes were light and tickling at first, but then became heavier, wetter, as the snow turned into rain. I hung my head, feeling my hair becoming thick and heavy and cold, before getting to my car and sliding behind the wheel. I sat there for a long moment, trying to make sense of what had happened. What twisted turn of fate, what wicked aspect of God had I – or we – invoked? To be reminded of lost love, given a chance to explore it, only to have it ripped away . . . . At first, I thought it cruel. Then I realized . . . . *** The following day, I stood out on the rear deck of my parents' home, sated and satisfied from the holiday meal my dear mother had provided. Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews and cousins . . . we were all there. The warmth of the Yuletide Spirit was alive within us all. The universal expression of love had helped me come to terms with what had happened between Angie and I. In a strange sort of uncharacteristically enlightened way, I saw our coupling as a catharsis, a needed release for us both. The final chapter, as it were, so that Angie and I could turn the page and move on. Auld Langsyne I was at peace. Finally. And perhaps for the first time in my life. I heard the door slide open, then close behind me. I sipped the glass of Tawny port, heard my mother's feet crunch through the thing layer of packed snow on the deck before she appeared beside me. "'It's the most wonderful time of the year . . .'" she sang. My mother would never lose her choir voice, I knew. I smiled, dipping my head a moment before looking to the woman who had given me life. "Yes, it is." "You're putting on a brave front, Danny," she said, touching my arm the way mothers did. The gesture was both motherly patronizing as well as maturely encouraging. "I know it's not easy for you right now." My smile didn't fade. "Honestly, it's not as bad as I was afraid it would be. If it wasn't for you, and Dad, and . . . and everyone else here, I'd be sitting at home, drinking myself to oblivion. But I'm not. This really is the best Christmas I could hope for." My mother's brow furrowed in confusion. "It is?" I turned toward her, leaning against the snow-covered railing. "It is. Because I think I've figured out what happiness is." My mother cocked her head, giving me a curious look. "Would you care to share?" I chuckled. "Happiness is . . . ." I thought a moment, looking out across Mom's snow-covered back yard, the dark, cloudless sky overhead, the glittering stars above. "Happiness is knowing love when it is there, and accepting love for what it is." My mother patted my shoulder. "Dan . . . I think you've finally grown up." I smiled. *** Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoyed this tale inspired, in part, by Dan Fogelberg's timeless classic, "Same Old Lang Syne." If you are so inclined, please vote, and even leave a comment if you wish.