4 comments/ 11313 views/ 0 favorites Bittersweet Memories By: Lady Lay Ghostly lovers have been recorded through out history, many such stories have been memorialized on film, and one that comes to mind is "Ghost" with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze. Whether their real or simply the fantasy of lonely lovers, you may never know unless you have one visit you in some remarkable way! Bittersweet Memories She knew she shouldn't have come back. It had to be the masochist in her coming out. There had hardly been enough time to accept what had happened and move on, but she just couldn't forget. Couldn't bring herself to let the memories die. She had to hurt herself by going back to the cabin and sit in the silence reliving all the stolen moments they'd spent there. The pain was better than the numbness she was feeling, she told herself, trying to justify the insanity to herself. She didn't believe it though and no-one else would either. But in her mind, it made her feel better about breaking the promise they'd made to each other. When its over, its over. No guilt, no recriminations and no contact. Just move on. That was the part that killed her the most. He had been such a major part of her life for so long that she felt empty without him. She picked up the phone so many times, checking to see if it was still working, desperate to hear it ringing and his voice on the other end telling her where and when to meet him. What she would have to be wearing and all the things he wanted to do to her. Back then, just looking at the phone made her pussy wet. Now it just made her feel emptier. The drive up had been just as painful. She could barely concentrate on the road, her mind kept seeing the places they'd stopped and played at. The tree he had dragged her behind, her panties were still high in the branches from where he'd thrown them after tearing them off her body. She smiled sadly as she remembered the continuing drive. Her skirt up around her waist, her naked cunt on display to his eyes and anyone else's who saw into his car. The picnic area where he's bent her over the table and buried his face inside her from behind, but not allowing her to cum. The gas station where he'd made her get on her knees, his cock pumping in and out of her open mouth as he pumped the gas, not caring who saw them. She could clearly remember the face of the boy behind the counter who had been watching as she stood back up, wiping her lips. Each memory stabbed her like a dagger deep in her heart. Several times she had to stop the car to wipe the tears from her eyes or to stroke herself to orgasm as she relived each memory. Yes they hurt to remember, but they were still the most amazing experiences of her life. It was late when she arrived. She welcomed the darkness. It enveloped her, protecting her from seeing the cabin in its entirety. It lessened the pain a bit, but didn't take it away totally. Just numbed it to a dull ache. Opening the trunk, she dragged out her suitcase. It felt very heavy but she managed to haul it up onto the front porch of the cabin. The key was under the flowerpot. Cliched, but the best place for it. The door swung open easily and she stood in the open doorway breathing in the slight musty odour of the house. That would all change when she opened it up. It had been closed up and dormant too long. She paused, her hands on either side of the door, as if she was holding it up. Then her subconscious dragged up the memory of him placing her hands there before he dragged up her skirt, her bare arse exposed to his greedy eyes. She heard his zipper slide down and heard him reaching inside. The urge to turn her head to see what he was doing was overwhelming, but she knew he would punish her severely if she did. Reluctantly, she kept still and waited. Before long she heard the soft sound of his moans and she realised what was happening. He was standing behind her and stroking his cock. She longed to turn, to watch or take it in her mouth, but knew the consequences of those actions. He had taught her well. All she could do was listen and wait. It seemed like hours. She could feel her pussy tingling, desperate for his touch, for his tongue, but she knew he wouldn't give them to her until he was ready to, not a second before. She heard his moans growing louder, soft grunts, the sound of his cock hitting his hand and finally, the one loud groan which she knew signaled his orgasm. Seconds later, it was confirmed by the warm, wet splash of his cum on her arse cheeks. She couldn't help but moan as she felt it trickle down between her naked cheeks. Then she felt his hot breath behind her, his strong hands pulling her cheeks apart. She held her breath. He knelt there watching his cum trailing down her crack, pooling in the dip formed by her puckered hole. The touch of his tongue on her skin made her gasp loudly. Slowly snaking between her spread cheeks, following the trail left by his cum, until it reached the puddle in her hole. Without pausing, he plunged it inside her, lapping his cum from her body. She knew he didn't do this often and that when he did, it was just the start. Shaking herself back into the present, she stepped inside the door and closed it behind her. Switching on the lights, she looked around. It still looked the same, exactly how they had left it, except for the dead flowers in the blue vase on the table. They had been lush and full of life when they'd left. But now, they reflected how she felt. Withered and dead inside. Smiling wryly at the comparison, she picked up the vase with the dead flowers in it and walked over to the window. The catch was stiff, but she got the window open and tipped the flowers out. Dead, withered and thrown away. A fitting comparison, she thought as she placed the vase back on the table. Looking around, she noticed the thin layer of dust coating everything. She'd deal with it in the morning. It had been there for months and obviously wasn't going to go anywhere overnight. Sighing, she dragged her heavy case into the bedroom. She dreaded turning on the light, but there was no way to avoid it. Her hand reached for the switch, her heart pounding in her chest. The light showed the bed in the middle of the huge room, where it had always been. She'd always loved the wrought iron posts surrounding it, closing it in. It made her feel safe when she slept in it knowing they were there, like surrogate arms holding her. She also saw the white silk scarves still attached to them from the last time she'd been here with him. Unable to stop herself, she moved to the closest post and took a scarf in her hand. The cold silk seem to melt through her hand, stealing the warmth from her skin. As if in a dream, she saw herself tied spreadeagled to the bed. The scarves tied tight around both wrists and both ankles, spreading her open to his eyes. He liked to gaze at her helpless body. His scrutiny of it causing her to blush and try to twist from his eyes, but she could barely move. He'd bound her too well. Her pathetic struggles just made him smile. He dragged the black leather crop he'd been holding up the inside of her left leg. She squirmed, trying not to giggle at the tickling touch of it. She knew how much that displeased him. And she never wanted to displease him. He stopped when it reached her inner thigh. "Trying to hide my property from me?" he'd growled as he slapped the end of the crop against her naked exposed cunt. She whimpered and softly begged for forgiveness, promising never to hide from his eyes again. She knew her body was his. His to do whatever he wished with it, whenever he wanted it. He'd slapped it against her swelling lips again, loving how it left a faint red imprint against her pale skin. He brought the crop up to his mouth and licked the end. There was a faint taste of her cunt juice on it. She was already growing wet for him. He rubbed the end of the crop hard against her clit, watching the bud growing harder as the soft leather stroked it. He could tell from the gentle grinding of her hips that she was growing very aroused by the touch of the crop. He pulled it away abruptly. He didn't want his whore to have pleasure until he was ready to give it to her. And he hadn't finished toying with her yet. He could tell by the brief flicker of anger in her eyes that he was right. She had been enjoying the crop. He reached down and parted her pussy lips. The glisten of juice there told him exactly how much. Grinning, he slid a finger between them, loving how she tried to arch up and control where his finger went. But he just pulled it away. He sniffed his finger as he walked around to the head of the bed. She tried to turn her head to look up at him but he grabbed her hair with one hand and held her head still as he reached down with the other one and painted her lips with her cunt juice. He watched as her tongue trailed over her lips, licking them clean. Smiling, he walked slowly back around the bed, pausing at the foot of the bed, his hand lazily rubbing at his hardening cock through his pants as he let his eyes wash over her naked and tied body. Every inch of her was exposed to him and he enjoyed the sight of her writhing against the restraints. He could see her eyes watching his hand as it stroked his cock through his pants. He dropped his hand and stroked her ankle. His fingertips tracing around her delicate bone before dragging up her calf as he walked back along the bed. He stopped when his fingers reached the top of her inner thigh. He could see the want in her eyes, feel her hips trying to arch up and the heat from her naked cunt. He traced his finger over her wet lips, letting his finger swirl around her clit, feeling it swell under his lightest touch. Hearing her soft moans, he plunged his finger inside her cunt, twisting it in and out as he watched her face. Her lips parted, eyes closed in pleasure. He slid another finger inside her and slowly worked them in and out, twisting slowly and scissoring them open and shut. Her hips matched his rhythm as she arched them off the bed, fucking his fingers as his thumb rubbed her clit. He could feel the muscles in her cunt clenching around them as she grew more and more turned on. Just by watching her face, he could tell how close she was to cumming. He continued twisting his fingers in and out of her, watching her, waiting till she was about to cum...then he slid his fingers from her. He could tell by the murderous look in her eyes she wasn't happy he'd stopped, but that she knew better than to say one word or beg. Smiling, he slid onto the bed beside her, his fingers slowly pulling his pants open. Her eyes watched as he tugged them down and pulled his cock free of them. Wrapping his hand around it, he started stroking it, his hand moving up and down around it as she watched. His fingers squeezing tight around it, thumb rubbing over the head, lubricated by his precum. He waited until her lips parted to move over and straddle her. He pushed the head of his cock against her lips and rubbed it up and down, enjoying the soft wetness of her tongue lapping at it. He waited until she parted her lips wider and then shoved his cock deep into her mouth. Her eyes widened, mouth adjusting to being full of his cock before slowly starting to suck on it. His hips arched forward, pushing in and out of her mouth, fucking it as his hands grabbed her hair, pulling her up to him. He loved how her lips looked wrapped around him, the soft sucking sounds she made, and how well her tongue swirled around him. Sliding one arm under her neck, he cradled her up, his cock pumping in and out of her mouth as she started up into his eyes, sucking it like his good little whore. His other arm reached back behind him, his fingers finding and slowly stroking her open pussy. He loved the soft moans that she was making every time he touched her swollen clit. The vibrations against his cock caused him to let out soft moans too. He knew he wasn't far from cumming, so he eased two fingers back inside her and twisted them in and out as his thumb went back to her clit. He could tell by the way her hips were arching up that she was catching up to him fast. Her cunt clenched around his fingers, gripping them tightly as her mouth continued to fuck him. Both were holding on...her waiting for his permission to cum...him just to tease her more. The pleading in her eyes as she held on brought him even closer... The scarf dropped from her open fingers as she opened her eyes and banished the memory. Angry at herself for allowing him back into her thoughts, she grabbed the scarf again and ripped it from the bedpost. Walking around the bed, she repeated that with the remaining scarves. They belonged in the trash, with him and all the memories he'd left her with. After changing the bedding, she slipped off her clothes and slid between the fresh cotton sheets. The coolness enveloping her body with its soft caress. She found sleep easily. The dreams of him stayed thankfully away allowing her peace in her slumber. The morning bought streaming sunshine through the windows, highlighting all the dusting and other work she had to do that day. After a long soak in the tub, she dressed and set to work, her mind steering away from the many hidden memories that the rooms held. The chair he bent her over as he spanked her arse until it burned, the wall he'd held her against as he fucked her hard from behind, the couch he'd stretched out on as he watched her masturbating on the coffee table... So many memories, but she had no time or need for them anymore. She was exorcising them from her cabin and her soul. Closing her mind and heart, she aired out the rooms, scrubbed floors and walls, rearranged furniture, fluffed cushions until she was almost dead on her feet. It was a long day, but a productive one. As she fell onto the couch, she looked around the room and smiled. It looked like a totally different place than it had been that morning. Even though the furniture was the same, the positioning of it was new and held no memories for her. She didn't realise she'd fallen asleep until the sun woke her the next morning. After looking at her watch she jumped to her feet. Almost noon and she was running out of time. She tore her clothes off as she ran for the bathroom. Without waiting for the water to heat up, she jumped into the shower, squealing as the icy water hit her skin. The water did warm up as she soaped her body. The soft bubbles caressing her as she scrubbed off the dirt from the previous day. She wished she could spend more time under the steaming water, but she knew time was short. With great reluctance, she turned the water off and stepped out, wrapping her wet body in a white fluffy towel. As she walked into the bedroom, she thought about what she had to do to prepare for the afternoon. She slowly rubbed the soft towel over her arms, loving how it felt against her skin. She took her time drying her body. Sliding the towel over her breasts, across her stomach and moaning softly as she moved it between her legs. The soft material against her sensitive clit made her knees feel weak and she wished she had more time, but she still had so much to prepare. Briskly, she dried the rest of her body, threw the towel into the hamper and wrapped up in her robe. She would get dressed later, after everything was ready. After the long day she had spent cleaning, it took no time at all to set everything out exactly how she wanted it. She smiled as she looked around, then wandered back into the bedroom to dress. Her bag was still on the chair where she'd placed it the night she arrived. Opening it, she glanced through the contents, picking, then discarding her choices. Finally she settled on a new garter belt she'd bought the week before. The black lace contrasted nicely with her pale skin as she slipped it around her waist. She had the perfect lace topped stockings to go with it too. She pulled them on and slipped into her six inch red stilettos. Only then did she look into the mirror. The black of the stockings and the garter belt framed the newly regrown soft blonde curls between her thighs perfectly. She stroked them as she walked towards the door of the cabin. As she sunk to her knees she heard a car pulling up. Her head bowed as the footsteps on the porch drew closer. She heard the door opening and kept her head bowed, eyes focused on the floor. Her skin could feel the heat from his eyes as he took in the sight of her submitting before him. She had let her pubic hair grow as he had ordered. She would have everything set up for him as she knew he wanted to be the one to shave those golden curls off, exposing her cunt to his eyes, his fingers, his tongue. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a length of leather. Gently, he placed a finger under her chin and raised her head up. He slipped the leather around her neck and clasped it there. Her new Master was home. Bittersweet Memories *This is a response to a request from a literotica friend. I hope you enjoy it and don't mind how liberally I've used artistic licence* * I am not someone prone to thoughts of infidelity. I pride myself on the fact that I have been 100% faithful to every partner I have shared myself with and I expect the same responsibility and honesty in return. Marty and I had been going out for 6 months. He was to all intents and purposes a 'jock'. Captain of the university football team, tall, toned and lean but not overly muscular, together with a handsome face and charming smile I have no doubt that he was the object of the fantasies of a fair few women who had met him. He was no fool either, I never saw him spend much time with his books yet he effortlessly aced whatever exam was thrown before him. And yet here was I, fresh out of a small rural college, with no great sophistication or tremendous beauty, monopolising the attentions of this Adonis. I was used to the bitchy stares and comments from other girls and I became accustomed to the coterie of flirtatious females that attached themselves to Marty whenever we went out to a bar or club, often in blatant disregard of my presence alongside him. At first, of course, I found it impossible to ignore them. Even though it was flattering to have a boyfriend who attracted such attention it was much more than I knew how to handle. I was aware too of his reputation garnered during his first year at university. I didn't know exactly how many girls he had slept with, I didn't ask either but I knew he had taken more than his share. So whenever some glamorous, and usually drunk, girl threw her arms round his neck and pressed her slender body against Marty, heedless of my aghast expression, I couldn't help but wonder whether this was another of his conquests returning for seconds. I sulked and wept my way through the first month and a half of our relationship before I gradually gained a grip on my jealousy. Despite his past I had no reason to believe Marty was anything other than devoted to me, apart from my own sense of inadequacy. I also reassured myself with the notion that based on the amount of sex we were having with each other there surely couldn't be any need for him to be looking elsewhere. I reaped the benefit of his experience in this. I had never been a particularly orgasmic partner in my previous relationships but I was able to learn a great deal about my body through the way he touched me. In our first 3 months together we were insatiable. The bedroom I nominally shared with my roommate at university residence remained pristine whilst I eventually found myself taking over the laundry duties at Marty's house. Like so many teenage boy's he suffered from a lack of attention to cleanliness. If I didn't change his sheets on a daily basis the bed quickly became so stained with our sweat and other bodily fluids that the smell would make me gag. I found his other housemates largely an annoyance to be tolerated. When he was with them his boorish side overpowered the tenderness I saw in private. Only one of them could I stand to be alone in the same room with for more than 5 minutes. Rich was sporty too, but his chosen field was the comparatively solitary activities of athletics and swimming. Hence, he always seemed shy and quietly vulnerable compared to the raucous carousing of his friends. Whenever Marty became insufferable I would invariably sneak away to Rich's room on the top floor where I would nestle myself in his tired and faded leather armchair and gabble at him whilst he struggled manfully to finish whatever essay was due in the next day. Somehow after half a year of semi-blissful coexistence my enthusiasm began to diminish. I wasn't aware of it at first except as a creeping ordinariness in our life. We still met every day, went out together most days of the week and had fun when we did so. Yet I no longer felt pain in my tummy at the thought of having to leave him for a few hours, I no longer had to struggle to contain my naïve happiness when we were reunited. We still made love as frequently as before but when the fireworks went off they were not quite as bright or as explosive, and even those were now the exception rather than the rule to which I had been accustomed. The confusing part was that on the nights spent in my own bed alone it was thoughts of him that fuelled my masturbation fantasies and brought me so quickly to wave after wave of orgasmic delight as I pillow-smothered my moans of pleasure for the sake of my roommate's prurience. One night we had been out with a group of mutual friends at a bar. I managed to ignore the skinny blonde with the unfeasible cleavage that had spent most of the night practically throwing herself at my boyfriend and it was perhaps her attentions that accounted for the fiery passion with which he molested my body on the dance floor. From the bulge in his trousers that pressed against my tummy as we danced I knew how the evening would develop and I managed to keep him far enough from his jock buddies and the bar long enough to ensure he would not be incapable at the end of the night. I gave his crotch a playful squeeze and suggested we take a taxi before the queue gets too long. As soon as the cold air hit me I started to lose any arousal that had built up. The boyish fumbling in the back of the taxi did nothing to increase my desire. The rough and feverish grappling, which always used to melt my resistance when we were first discovering each other's bodies, now seemed forced and unwanted. I feigned modesty before our driver in keeping the wandering hands outside my little black dress yet secretly I knew this was my excuse to hold him at bay. When we reached Marty's house his hands were upon me before we even opened the front door. In the darkened porch he lifted the front of my dress and pressed his hardness against me. I couldn't respond. All I could sense was the overpowering reek of alcohol on his breath and instead of being excited by the smell of his perspiring body I suddenly wanted to be away from his embrace. 'What's wrong?' he asked concerned by my lack of interest. 'Nothing.' I smiled, 'I just think you should have a shower before we go to bed.' 'Mmmm. Ok babe, do you want to join me?' I wriggled free from his arms and skipped off into the hallway. 'In a minute, I'm a bit thirsty though. I'm going to get myself some water and then I'll come up.' Marty sighed heavily. 'Don't be too long now. If you're not in my bed in 10 minutes I'm going to bend you over that kitchen table and have you no matter who's watching.' I gave him an exaggerated expression of shock and skittered off to the kitchen. I downed the first glass of icy water and poured another immediately. I could hear the shower running in the room above. Marty's showers were always long affairs and it was a source of friction that I was regularly left with at best lukewarm water if I got in after him. I wandered upstairs, passing Marty's bedroom and stopping in front of Rich's, as ever, open doorway. He sat at the desk, his back to the door and I stood there a moment watching. He looked so concentrated on his study, I couldn't bring myself to interrupt him. 'You're back early tonight?' 'How did you know I was here?' 'Everyone else in this house moves about like a herd of wildebeest. When you tiptoe up the stairs it immediately catches my attention,' he turns to face her, 'and besides you woke up half the street falling out of that taxi about 2 minutes ago.' He smiles and removes his glasses. 'You should wear glasses more often.' 'Why?' 'They make you look...I don't know...more distinguished.' 'You mean like a geriatric professor?' 'Yeah, something like that.' She replies dryly and slumps into her usual place in the old leather armchair beside the bed. 'Good night?' 'No, it was boring. Stuck listening to drum and bass all night while Lydia tried to undress Marty in front of me.' 'Why do you stand for it?' 'What do you mean?' 'Why don't you just tell him to push them off?' 'Of course I've told him that' 'And ...?' 'And, he swears he doesn't even notice that they're flirting with him. He says I'm being oversensitive. That it's all in my imagination.' 'Do you believe that?' I stared into my glass and rubbed a speck of dirt on the rim. 'I don't know. I know I get jealous. Not exactly the most attractive of emotions. And I can't expect him to not have any female friends, but other guys are able to have a conversation with girls without them leaving a damp patch on the seat afterwards.' Rich hid his laugh behind a hand. 'Like you for instance. When you talk to a girl I don't see her pawing at your thigh like she's kneading bread.' 'No, that's true, but it's hardly the same circumstances.' 'I don't see the difference. You're about the same build, both good-looking. Are you trying to tell me that girls don't find you attractive?' 'That's not what I mean. Marty's just a more...tactile person than I am.' A lock of Rich's wavy chestnut hair fell in front of his face. He managed to look simultaneously more boyish yet more mature than any of his housemates. 'So how come you didn't come out tonight?' He holds a hefty textbook aloft, 'mechanosynthesis, wanna help?' 'Er, much as I'd love to, I feel that my assistance would be about as useful as the steak tartar option at a vegan convention.' 'Well I'm no vegan and I could use all the help I can get.' 'Another all-nighter?' 'Looks like it unfortunately.' 'I can take a hint. I'll head off to bed in a minute and leave you in peace.' 'In peace, huh?' 'What are you trying to say?' 'Nothing. Bad joke. I apologise.' He starts back to his books. 'You mean Marty and I disturb you? You can hear us?' I felt my face redden slightly. 'But we always put music on.' 'I know. And you should consider putting a different CD on once in a while? I think I must know the lyrics to that entire album by now.' 'It's Marty's favourite.' I giggled, 'but we don't share the same taste in music.' 'I'm glad to hear it.' Silence falls between us for a moment. The shower had stopped running. 'Can you really hear us?' 'Sometimes, but I can always put my stereo on too.' I hesitated for a second and then asked. 'And do you...always?' Rich stopped reading and turned on the chair to face me again. He looked me directly in the eye. Suddenly I felt terribly exposed. 'Always.' He responded, his gaze never flinching from mine. 'Jenny!' I almost dropped my glass. Marty stood at the door to Rich's bedroom, only a towel round his waist to hide his modesty. 'What have you been up to? I've been waiting ages?' 'Slight exaggeration isn't that? You only just came out of the shower.' 'Well it feels like ages.' He grabbed my wrist and yanked me up from the chair. 'Excuse me if I borrow her for a while won't you mate?' 'Be my guest.' Rich waved a hand in their general direction and returned to his study. 'Goodnight Rich.' I called to him as I fought off Marty's lecherous groping. 'And good luck with your essay. Don't stay up too late.' 'Thanks, I won't. And don't forget to expand your musical appreciation.' Marty lifted me fully off the ground and hauled me back to his room before dumping me unceremoniously on the bed. The towel fell away. He was already starting to become hard. Keeping my eyes locked on his I moved to the edge of the bed and took him into my mouth. I pressed my nose up against his hair as his cock grew inside me. His body smelt of soap. I gripped his cheeks and pulled him into me as I swirled my tongue and sucked hard. 'God...yes. What's gotten into you tonight?' He groaned. Gasping for air I released his now fully erect penis. Something had gotten to me. I didn't have to check to know that I was soaking wet now. 'Don't talk, just fuck me!' 'I can handle that. Unless you'd rather I ask Rich to come in here and do you?' Marty's jest shocked me. I couldn't answer, but he didn't wait for a reply anyway. Flipping me on my front he roughly pulled up my skirt and yanked my panties off. My mind whirled. I had never had a salacious thought about Rich before but that was where my imagination went now. As I felt the familiar sensation of Marty's cock opening me up from behind, it was the image of Rich that filled me with passion. That night we fucked hard and long. Marty's energy was inexhaustible and he seemed to delight in drawing out my pleasure till I begged him to give me release. Each time I came it was as all consuming as our first few times together and I cried out in unrestrained lust. We never got round to putting the music on, between panted breaths I listened for another stereo in the house. I never heard it. It was sometime after 4am. I hadn't been able to sleep long. The room was too hot, or the radiators were clanging away. Something was keeping me awake. My mouth was parched. Slipping on one of Marty's T-shirts I stumbled towards the door. The house was still. The lights were on downstairs. A sliver of light came from a doorway further down the hall. Rich's room. I tiptoed past, intending to head for the bathroom when a sound stopped me in my tracks. Rich was awake. I could hear him breathing. So he really was burning the midnight oil on this essay. I moved to the crack in the door and tried to peer inside. Rich wasn't at his desk where I expected him to be. I heard the bedsprings groan. My eye caught the long dressing mirror on the wall above the armchair and my jaw gaped. I could see him clearly in the light of the bedside lamp. He was lying on the bed completely nude, one hand rested on his chest, lightly touching a nipple. But it was the other hand that held my attention. It tightly gripped the head of his erect penis. He was large, larger than Marty and indeed anyone I had ever seen before. I could see his fingers pulling the skin back and forth slowly, repeatedly. He must've been using some kind of lubricant for the light was reflecting off his body and apart from the sounds of his breathing the only other noise was a delicious squishing sound as he stroked his manhood. I was transfixed. There were some magazines on the bed next to Rich. I couldn't make them out clearly but most disappointing of all was that I could not see his face at all. I knew that if I pushed the door open another inch the angle would allow me to see him fully. I held my breath as I rested my hand against the door, testing its weight. I tried to remember if this door creaked. Another thought occurred to me. Had I been the cause of Rich's arousal? Could it be that the sounds of my lovemaking had stirred him to take matters into his own hands? The possibility stirred a familiar warm feeling in my sex and I felt my nipples harden. His cock looked so delicious to me and I wished it were my hands that caressed it. I gently touched myself beneath the T-shirt that barely reached below my bum. God, how wet I was! Just the slightest fingertip touch on my slit left me struggling to stifle a moan of pleasure. I had to see more. I eased the door a few more degrees wider, relieved that it did so noiselessly, and took in the full scene. He alternated between looking at the magazine and closing his eyes with his head back on the pillow, lost in the moment of his self-pleasure. His penis was already slick with oil that had already worked its way onto the rippling muscles of his stomach and chest. His strokes were slow and deliberate. Sometimes he would stop to add some more lube to his hand from a container nearby, working it into his skin with a twisting motion. When he pulled back the foreskin with one hand and teased the head with the fingertips of the other his hips involuntarily raised off the bed and a moan escaped his lips. The sight could have brought me to a climax right there and then but I was curious to see how he would finish so I did no more than tease my clit which begged for firmer attention. Then I realised his eyes were upon me. I didn't know whether he had just spotted me or whether he had been aware for a while. His expression was nervous rather than shocked but he didn't stop what he was doing and neither did I. His look didn't make me feel like an intruder, it was the same vulnerable face that had shared a few moments with me earlier that evening. I quickly made a decision before my conscience got the better of me. Slipping inside the door I pushed it closed behind me and held a finger to my lips in conspiratorial fashion. I sat down on the edge of the bed and we fixed eye contact for a moment. Then I quickly glanced at the excited member he still held in his grasp. 'Always?' I whispered. 'Always.' He nodded and mouthed the word silently. I nodded too in understanding then in one fluid movement I pulled the T-shirt up over my head and cast it aside on the floor. Rich's movements suddenly became more urgent. A trickle of semi-transparent liquid oozed from his penis as his eyes devoured my curves. I ran my finger over the line of my breast, stopping at the nipple to delicately tease its hardness. I dearly wanted to touch that inviting body before me but somehow that was a line I could not cross and I think Rich too had the same feeling. Like two caged animals we approached each other with deep instinctive longing, yet always mindful that there was an unbreakable barrier between us. We trod the boundary so carefully and so close that we seemed to move together in a harmony that went beyond the purely physical. The union of that moment was so intense neither of us wished it to end. I don't know for how long we edged that climax, in a kind of unspoken understanding of denial. So many times we had to pull back from the brink. Soon our bodies were drenched in sweat and the wetness from between my legs stained his bed sheets. Finally, my passion overtook me. My leg brushed against Rich's and even such a slight contact drove me over the edge. I arched my back as my mind narrowed to a pinpoint of light concentrated on the feeling in my sex and the brief electricity of the brush of limbs together. I felt Rich's body tense next to mine. I opened my eyes not to miss the spectacle of his climax. His hands were a blur of speed. The first spurt landed on his chest, the second like a fountain sprayed us both with fine droplets of semen. And then he kept on cumming and cumming with luxurious abandonment. The image suddenly plunged me into the depths of my orgasm once more and I immediately came again. This time unable to keep silent I growled like a lioness, desperate not to wake up Marty but incapable of controlling the urges within me. At last we came to rest. I felt droplets of his semen trace their way down my tummy, breasts and legs. I wished I could lie with Rich for a while longer but already my senses had returned to the extent that I knew very well the fire that I was playing with. Rich stared silently at me, his expression of slight shame mixed with lust mirrored my own. Guilt began to get the better of me and I shakily got to my feet. I could feel his eyes on me as I bent over to retrieve the discarded T-shirt. I quickly pulled it over my head, heedless of the stickiness that transferred itself to the material. I stopped with my hand on the doorknob and looked back. Rich hadn't moved, he still lay there covered in his own juices. I leaned over him and kissed his lips softly, once, and then slipped out the door. Marty never found out about my indiscretion. Predictably, we broke up sometime later that year. He told me after we split that he had never been with anyone else while we were going out. I believed him. Rich and I discussed what happened a short while afterwards but in the end our scruples prevented anything further happening between us. By the time Marty and I separated Rich had already made plans to go travelling round Asia for a year and the chance of a relationship was gone. Still that night retains a treasured place amongst my memories even though the recollection is tinged by regret and pangs of guilt. Bittersweet Memories The sun beat hot on the narrow path which wound through the fresh spring garden like a cobbled stream. Victor thought there would have been more people on the garden tour on a day like today, but he hadn't seen a single soul since he had parked his old beater about a mile back. As he walked, he saw a small placid pond choked with leaves fallen from a gathering of oaks, huddled around the pond like a Savannah watering hole. To his right, Victor saw a refurbished bird bath tipped carelessly and never righted. It didn't seem like people came back here often to fix anything. Looking into the glassy surface, he saw his own reflection and reflected that he needed a bit more sun. It was a decent day to shave his face too even though it made him look a bit young for his 25 years of age, the sun which passed through the overarching canopy hit his face in subtle beams and another leaf gently fell into the pond, sending ripples across the water. Victor knelt by the pond and watched each expand calmly as their energy was spent and the water had returned to a state of peace. Victor lost track of time here, the world seemed to fall away and he flexed his long forearms, taught from his time in the climbing gym. He was exhausted, but the peace that he felt here was the perfect remedy. He let his mind recede, watching the ripples slowly in reverse. He picked up the pace and found himself in a distant memory, meeting up at Gordi's, a small dive bar he used to frequent before the music turned new age and every other person you could meet had a band there. Victor used to go and listen to the cover bands on weekends, listening to renditions of The Who, The Doors, Pearl Jam, and a slew of others. He would shut his eyes and sway his head with the rhythm of the music. After a few Long Islands, he could even be found dancing along with the lead singer to Baba O'Riley. That's where he had met Emily, with her head down, bobbing along to the music. How surreal she was, her hair as black as his but straight not the deep curls he could feel on his head. He reached up to remember, how different his hair felt compared to hers. It's funny how two people trying to drown everyone else out can find each other so easily. When she looked up, she caught him looking at her and Victor immediately pretended that he was watching the most interesting thing ever right behind her. Victor was always shy, even when he had a few drinks, but luckily Emily caught on to his ruse and came over to sit next to him. It was too loud to talk, so they just sat there, closed their eyes, and rocked side to side in unison. He had never felt such a deep connection to a person in his life, and after the third set had ended he asked for her phone number, and she asked for his apartment number. He smiled shyly, and mumbled that he doesn't normally do this sort of thing. Emily looked down at the table, and told him she was in a relationship which was rocky with an outcome no one could guess, and she just didn't want to feel like she was alone anymore. Victor understood and invited her back to his apartment. Victor smiled remembering his first apartment, decked out like any 21-year old who was trying to be somebody would have. A bookshelf full of Chaucer and Dolstevsky lay across one wall, sprinkled with free verse poetry novels and a few notebooks of Victor's own work. A stack of medical textbooks sat on a checkered coffee table next to a rarely used ashtray. Victor's plans for medical school were fleeting at best, ideas always grabbed him strongly but never stayed for long, and the power of a doctor was simply to much for him to handle. A modest television sat across from a patterned couch, where Emily made herself at home. Victor had a stack of albums lying next to a reconstituted record player he had picked up from a flea market. It was his prized possession along with the Pink Floyd album he had just thrown on, Dark Side of the Moon. When he sat down, he saw Emily turn her sad eyes up to him and she held her slender pale hands in tight balled fists on her lap. Victor suddenly realized how odd it was that she was wearing long sleeves on a night as sweaty and humid as that night. Victor understood, he had went through a phase when he was younger, so he asked if he could see them. She looked up bleary eyed and responded, "What?" "Can I see the scars on your arms." She looked at him in disbelief, but without breaking eye contact slowly rolled up her sleeves. There they were, in neat little rows. Red crayon on white paper. Victor thought he would have been ready to see them, but even now he wondered why he hugged her so suddenly, so passionately. Most people would have been completely taken aback by a sudden move from someone they'd never met, but Emily accepted it and held his back tight and let her emotions run out of her in a stream. They pulled away from each other, and Emily began to smile, a tight-lipped, knowing smile. "I feel such a magnetic pull to you," she said, "The moment I saw you in the bar it just felt so right, like you're my destination, my answer for all the things that don't work in my life." "I didn't bring you back here to sleep with you," Victor responded, "but you look like you needed someone to hold you and tell you everything is going to be alright." So they laid back on the couch together, with Emily's head perfectly cradled on Victor's shoulder and they just let the rise and fall of their chests match in unison until the record had long stopped spinning, but they didn't notice. Time had lost meaning and the feeling of pure serenity that had brought Victor back to this memory pervaded all of his senses. There was no moment in his life that had felt more right than now. But slowly the clock came into focus and he saw that it was almost 5am, so he asked if her boyfriend knew she was out. She nodded her head as she slowly sat up, and went to say her goodbye, but ended up kissing Victor on the mouth, softly yet passionately. She pulled back with a hunger in her eyes that scared Victor, but enticed him at the same time. She rolled her sleeves back down and slipped her Converse shoes back on her feet. Victor watched each motion of her slender body without moving, any motion feeling like it might break his fragile heart. He finally stood and without thinking kissed her back, pulling her in close for a deeper kiss. One hand rested on the small of her back, the other crept up her long pale neck, fingers nestled in her tousled hair. They pulled away more slowly this time, Victor's lips still buzzing from the feel. He had never kissed someone so plainly and felt such an electricity from it. Her lips felt perfectly soft, yet malleable perfectly counteracting his aggressive nature. The two were lost in each others eyes for an indeterminate amount of time, but the rising sun peaked through the window and broke the spell. Emily walked out of the door, back to her life. Victor always stopped at Gordi's every night before he realized that he wasn't going to see her again. He had heard from one of the bartender's that she had actually married her boyfriend and had stopped coming in ever since. Another leaf fell in the pond and Victor snapped back to the present. Here, he pulled a small sketchpad out of his pocket and opened it to an image of a girl's arm with several gashes. Instead of blood, though, Victor had drawn cardinals flying free from the wounds. He tore this image from the book and threw it into the pond, watching as the red of the cardinals coalesced on the shining page. Victor stood and walked away from the pond with the drowning cardinals and began to whistle a tune to himself as he continued along the looping trail, hoping to make it back to his car in some short order, he yearned to hear another local band play something, even that crap he normally hated.