2 comments/ 3163 views/ 4 favorites Summer Romance Never Forgotten #01 By: SusanJillParker Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote. * Seemingly not meant to be, a man meets the love of his life and then loses her She kissed him. Emma kissed him. She French kissed him. He couldn't believe this beautiful, young woman was French kissing him. She parted his lips with her tongue and French kissed him. Never had he been kissed like this before. Never had a woman kissed him first before. If only he knew then what he knows now, that he would never be kissed like that again, he may have done things differently. If only he knew then what he knows now, he never would have let her go. If only he knew then what he knows now, he would have gone after her. Only, what did he know? Happy with her kiss and thrilled to have sex with her, he didn't know he loved her at the time, truly loved her even forty years later. Seemingly, some things are never meant to be. * * * * * Robert couldn't believe she kissed him. With his brown eyes wide open and her violet eyes melting his soul and forever taking ownership of his heart, she leaned into him, pressed her bikini clad body up against him, and kissed him in the way he had never been kissed before. As if they were already a couple, a boyfriend and girlfriend, engaged, or even married, he couldn't believe a woman he barely knew, a woman he had just met, kissed him in such a passionately loving and sexual way. Too much for him to comprehend at the time, overwhelmed, he mistook his feelings of love for horniness. He didn't realize that this was his once in a lifetime opportunity to find forever love and happiness. 'Wow,' he thought. 'No way! What the Hell was that about? Why is she kissing me in the way that I had wanted to kiss her as soon as I saw her? Women don't act this way.' Seemingly always turned on and with them intently focused on him, her eyes were as striking as if they were jeweled nightlights plugged in an outlet. If she had brown eyes, he may have not noticed her eyes as much as he did now. He couldn't remove his eyes from her eyes. Hypnotizing him with her eyes, she mesmerized him with her sexy stare. As if they were talking to him, her eyes moved him, sucked him in, and forced him to stare at her. Other than seeing Elizabeth Taylor on the big, silver screen, he had never seen anyone with violet eyes before and he had never met anyone with blue, black hair and olive complexion who didn't have brown eyes. Even though he had just met her and didn't know much about her, other than she had a fabulous body, was excruciatingly beautiful, and her name was Emma, he knew little else about her. Wobbly kneed, she literally melted him with her kiss. Star struck as if meeting and kissing a celebrity or a supermodel, with him liquid in her hands, he offered no resistance to her kissing him. His fantasy woman come true, why would he resist her red, full lips and her unbelievable body? Whether man or woman, no one could resist kissing her, especially not him, with him already so smitten with her. Never has he met anyone like her and she was kissing him. He couldn't believe she was kissing him, French kissing him. He fell back when she pushed him against the wall, parted his lips with her tongue, and kissed him. If he didn't know he was wide awake, he'd think he was dreaming. If he didn't know he was alive and breathing, he'd think he had died and gone to Heaven. He stared in her violet, blue eyes until she closed them and until he closed his eyes too. Taken away by her kiss, as if he was alone with her on a Maldivian tropical island, consumed by who she was and all that she could be to him, he lost all consciousness of where he was. Afraid to touch her for fear that she'd disappear in a poof and this phenomenal kiss, the best kiss of his life would end, he lightly rested his hands on her naked waist. By far, more beautiful than any actress or model he's ever seen in a magazine, on the big, silver screen, or on television, she was the most beautiful woman he's ever seen and she's kissing him. Yet, why was she kissing him? Why him? Why now? He didn't understand but deciding not to ruin the moment by questioning her or her motives, he just continued following her lead and going with the flow. Accustomed to having to put the moves on a woman and float her consciousness in a pool of excessive amounts of alcohol for her to kiss him in such a sexual way, he didn't even have to do that with her. He didn't have to do anything. As if he was the beautiful one and the one so desired, she kissed him. A complete mystery to him, why is someone who looks like her kissing someone who looks like him? With him always having a preference for blonds, he's never seen a woman with beautiful, blue, black hair who wasn't Asian, Latino, or African American before. As much as he was taken with her and with her mesmerizing eyes, eyes that he couldn't stop staring in them, he was taken by her long, lush, blue-black, beautiful, straight hair. She had the kind of gorgeous hair that those woman have in shampoo commercials but that he never saw in person on any woman. Contrasting her hair, she had beautiful, olive complexion. If he was to hazard a guess, he'd guessed she was Italian more than she was Latino or Mulatto. With her nearly the same height as him in her sandals, if he was to guess again, he'd say she was 5'9" tall. Suddenly, as if he was standing on a corner in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and watching her walk by, the song from the Girl from Ipanema played through his head. "Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking and when she passes, each one she passes goes, aaaaaah." None of this seemed real. All of this played out more like a fantasy. Unprepared to fall in love but already in love at first sight, she shove him in a sexual fantasy of epic, mind blowing proportions when she pushed him against the wall to kiss him. With all of this happening so fast, he didn't know what to believe. Only, this wasn't fantasy. This was real and seemingly she was just as sexually attracted to him as he was to her. Yet why? Why was she seemingly as sexually attracted to him as he was sexually attracted to her? He could understand his sexual attraction to her. Anyone would understand that. Explained just by looking at her, she was gorgeous and he was average at best. He could explain her attraction to him if he was handsome, brilliant, rich, and/or famous but he wasn't any of those things. He was just him, a typical guy, and an average Joe, who was bewitched by a beautiful woman he had just met on a beach. As if he was Prince Charming, unable to control himself from lightly touching her extraordinarily beautiful hair, he ran his slow fingers through her thick, shiny, black hair as if she was Snow White. Only, she may be as beautiful as who the Grimm Brothers created and who Walt Disney perceived as Snow White, but he was no woman's Prince Charming and this was no animated, fantasy cartoon. He needed to touch her to know if she was real. He needed to touch her to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. He needed to touch her to see if she'd recoil and slap his face to let him know that someone who looked like her could never be with someone who looked like him. Not an ugly man or a handsome man, he was just an average looking man. In the way there was everything special about her, there was nothing special about him, until now that Emma was kissing him. In the way that the handsome hero always gets the beautiful damsel in distress, her kissing him changed everything. Right from wrong, good versus evil, going left or right, and moving up or down, now everything in his life was now topsy-turvy instead of moving straight ahead. With him already set in his notions of the rich versus the poor and the beautiful versus the ugly, the top tier never fraternized with the bottom tier. With his world never being the same, he didn't know what to think now. Unbelievable but true, he would have been better off had he never even seen her walking from afar. He would have been better off had he never caught up to her while hoping to meet her. He would have been better off had she ignored him on the beach and not talked to him after he made a fool of himself by stumbling and falling. He would have been better off had she not walked with him and talked to him while picking up seashells. Hurting his head to admit it, he would have been better off had she not invited him back to her place. He would have been better off had she never kissed him, French kissed him. He would have been better off had she not allowed him to have his wicked sexual way with her beautiful body and given him sex. Only, when he looked up at her from the hot sand, a rare beauty, she had such a pretty face to match her incredible body. Then, there were those eyes, those violet eyes that stared down at him as if they were rare, brilliant jewels that sparkled in the sun. She laughed at him for tripping and for making a fool of himself by falling for her. As if she was haunting him, she had such a melodious laugh that can still be heard in his head to this day. Yet, even though it pained him to admit it, he would have been better off without her in his head forever haunting him as if she was his personal ghost. 'Emma. Where are you? Emma, I love you. I'll always love you.' * * * * * A memory he'll never forget and will surely carry with him for the rest of his life, if he were to die right here and right now with her in his arms kissing him, he'd die a happy man. Only, he prayed to God that he didn't die now and not just yet. Wanting to experience so much more of Emma than just her lips, now that she was kissing him, he hoped to receive so very much more than just her French kiss. Unaccustomed to a woman kissing him first, spellbound by her, Robert couldn't believe that Emma kissed him out of the blue. With no rhyme or reason to her kissing him, she kissed him in the way that he imagined kissing her. He's the one who's supposed to kiss her. He's the one who's supposed to make the first move. Now having to play it all through his head over and again for him to make sense of all that just happened, she invited him home, pushed him up against the wall, parted his lips with her tongue, and French kissed him. Totally shocked, he couldn't believe this gorgeous woman was making out with him. Unable to fit a playing card between them, she pressed her bikini clad, shapely body up against him as if she was going to fuck him right then and right there in her reception hall. Truth be told, with this a magically, enchanted day, never thinking that she'd ever have sex with him, that outrageous thought never even crossed his mind. He was just happy with her kiss. Then, again, as thrilled as he was baffled, he never dreamt that someone who looked like her would kiss someone who looked like him. Overjoyed that she didn't reject him when he approached her to talk to her, he was just happy to be with her while walking along the beach talking and picking up seashells. Just as he never expected her to kiss him or to instantly fall in love with her, he never expected her to invite him home. A woman he just met at the beach on the hottest day of the year, the most beautiful and sexiest woman in the world was kissing him. Unable to wrap his head around being in her house alone with her and with her kissing him, he couldn't believe she was kissing him. If Emma French kissing him wasn't enough, Robert couldn't believe his eyes when she reached around her back, unhooked her bra, and removed her bikini top. 'Oh, my God,' he thought. 'Are you kidding me? I don't believe this.' Too good to be true, if he didn't think he was dreaming before, he certainly must be dreaming now. She was topless. Emma was topless. Her tits, her areolas, and her nipples were right there in front of him for him to see. Something right out of a movie or a sexual fantasy, things like this never happened to him. If he told his friends that he met the most beautiful woman in the world and she French kissed him before removing her bikini top, they'd never believe him. They'd think he was lying. They'd think he was making up stories. They'd think he had lost his mind from masturbating too much while sexually fantasizing over beautiful women that he'd never meet, never mind kiss while they're topless. As if looking to see his reaction to her bold, sexual move, she stared up at him before looking down at her naked breasts. She looked at her breasts as if looking to see what he could see of her before returning her focused stare back to him staring at her tits. The only part of her more beautiful than her breasts, her hair, and her face were her eyes. Even though her naked breasts were trying to steal his focused attention, he couldn't stop staring at her eyes. For as long as he shall live, he'll never forget her eyes. He just stood there in shock gawking at her. Afraid to touch her for fear that he'd awaken from his dream, she took his hands in her hands and placed them on her C cup, naked breasts. Forget about moving to second base from first base, whatever this was moved at lightning speed. Giving him the green light as he hit a triple and flew around all of the bases and on his way to an in-the-park homerun, he was feeling Emma's naked tits and fingering her nipples. He couldn't believe she was kissing him as if she was in love with him. He couldn't believe he was feeling her naked tits and fingering her nipples. If he had to pick his best sexual fantasy, being there with Emma topless while French kissing her, feeling her naked breasts, and fingering her hard, erect nipples would be it. "La Vida Loca." As if he was a celebrity or a rich man, he was living the crazy life, something he's never done before. * * * * * Giving him complete, uninterrupted access to her amazingly shapely, C cup breasts, she wrapped her arms around his neck while making out with him. Kissing and kissing him, she continued kissing him. Allowing him to have his wicked way with her tits, if only he knew what happened to him then would never happen to him again, he may have more cherished the time he had with her lips and her naked breasts. He may have never let her go. Other than the airbrushed photos that he's seen of beautiful topless and naked women in a men's magazine, never has he seen breasts so shapely and perfectly symmetrical. Never has he felt breasts that were so firm and so densely heavy. The real deal and not some plastic surgeon's conception of what a woman's breasts should look and feel like, her breasts were all natural. She had breasts as naturally shapely as Jessica Simpson, Heidi Klum, or Scarlett Johansson. One of his favorite, sexual things to do, Robert continued feeling her tits while fingering her nipples as Emma continued kissing him and kissing him. When she could have easily stopped kissing him and pushed him away, she didn't. When she could obviously have any man she wanted, she choose him. Why? He didn't understand. As if he was Billy Joel with supermodel Christie Brinkley or Ric Ocasek of The Cars with supermodel Paulina Porizkova, he still couldn't believe that someone who looked like her was kissing someone who looked like him. He could understand Tom Brady with supermodel Giselle Bundchen but he was no Tom Brady. Even though they were strangers who weren't yet even friends, she kissed him as if they were already lovers. She kissed him as if she was in love with him when he had just met her. She kissed him as if she knew he was already in love with her when he had just met her an hour before. She kissed him as if she had known him in another lifetime. She kissed him as if she was a drunken woman when she was absolutely sober. She kissed him as if she was a woman high on drugs when she was totally clean. She kissed him with the unspoken promise that there'd be so much more to come. Not done yet. Seemingly with her hoping to get lucky with him and with him unaccustomed to such a fast turn of events, she made all of the sexual moves as if she was the man and he was the woman. As if she was the sexually aggressive one, and she was, and he was the submissive one, and he was, she reached her hand down to feel his swollen cock through his jeans. He couldn't believe that she was sexually touching him and brazenly feeling him in the way he was afraid to sexually touch her and brazenly feel her. If it wasn't enough that she kissed him, she French kissed him. If it wasn't enough that she removed her bikini top, she put his hands on her breasts. Now, if it wasn't enough that she was feeling his erection through his jeans, in his wildest sexual fantasies, he couldn't imagine what to expect next. Shocking him enough for him to gasp with sexual delight, he couldn't believe she was touching him in the way that he wanted to touch her. As if she had done this dozens of times with other men before, knowing where and just how to touch him, she made him hard without even stroking him. Touching him and feeling him precisely where he needed to be touched and felt, she fingered the head of his cock through his jeans with her manicured fingers. When he didn't stop her from sexually touching him, and when he didn't resist her from her sexually seducing him, she unbuttoned, unzipped, and pushed his jeans and underwear down to his ankles. 'Fuck me,' he thought to himself without dare voicing that out loud. In the way that he had tried to strip off the clothes of a woman numerous times before and failed, she was successful in stripping off his clothes now. In the way that he had tried to take sexual advantage of women he had just met after a night of drinking in a bar and failed, she was successfully taking sexual advantage of him now after walking with him for an hour on the beach. Especially one who was so beautiful, never had he ever met a woman who was so sexually aggressive. 'Oh, my God!' Then, he thought, 'What if she's not a woman but a man? What if she's a cross dresser or a post op or pre-op, transgendered individual. That would explain why she's so sexually attracted to him. That would explain why she was so sexually aggressive with him. Only a man would be attracted to another man who looks like him. Only a man would be as sexually aggressive.' Then, when he took another close, hard look at her, 'Nah, there's no way this beautiful woman was born a man.' Besides, if this beautiful woman is indeed a man, then he's turning gay and marching in the next gay parade for a chance to be sexually intimate with her. Only, soon to find out when she removed her bikini bottoms and asked him to give her oral sex, she wasn't a man. She was all woman with all the natural, God given, womanly parts. With her naked from the waist up, he was naked from the waist down. If he was dreaming now, this is the dream he'd be having. If he was masturbating to a sexual fantasy, he'd be masturbating to this one. Only, he wasn't dreaming and he wasn't have a sexual fantasy, this was really happening to him. 'Oh, my God. No way. This can't be happening to me. I must be dreaming. Something like this never happens to me,' he thought. Again, as if she was the man and he was the woman, she kissed and kissed him again while taking his already stiff prick in her hand. The warmth of her hand and the softness of her fingers sent chills through his spine. She kissed and kissed him again while slowly stroking his hard erection. Then, without him having to give her a not so subtle hint by pushing down on her shoulder, she took it upon herself to move herself down his body and kiss every part of him as she lowered her mouth down to his prick. Lowering herself where no modestly moral woman should ever go when just meeting a man, he was glad that she wasn't modesty moral. He racked his brain. It made no sense. Why was someone who looked like her with someone who looked like him? Whatever it was for her to kiss him, remove her bikini top, strip him naked, and fondle his cock before hopefully sucking his cock, he didn't care. All he cared about was that she was there with him now. All he cared about was that in getting sexually lucky with this sexy, sexual, beautiful Goddess, he'd have a story to tell his friends for the rest of his life. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #01 * * * * * Maybe with the bright sun shining in her eyes on the beach, she mistook him for someone else. Maybe she just had a horrible breakup with her boyfriend and he was her get even sex or rebound sex. Maybe she's imagining he's someone else. Maybe she's crazy. Maybe she's a serial killer who lured him to her house to have sex with her before killing him. Maybe she's a nymphomaniac and doesn't care who he is. Maybe she's a prostitute who doesn't ask for payment up front. With her still holding his prick in her hand, she slid her topless body down to her knees while looking up at him and before taking his cock in her mouth. He couldn't believe this beautiful woman he just met not only French kissed him and stripped herself topless but also was blowing him. Teasing him with her mouth and tongue while smiling up at him, she stared at him with her beautiful, violet eyes and while running her tongue over the head of his cock and stroking him a little faster. "Fuck me," he said under his breath while inadvertently blurting out what he was thinking. An involuntary reaction to her blowing him, he didn't mean to utter that aloud. He never thought she'd take him so seriously and so literally until she spoke her one word. "Okay," she said staring up at him with those hypnotic eyes. He looked down at her not believing that she agreed to fuck him. Making him harder, she continued sucking his cock, no doubt, in readiness to fuck her. 'What? Pardon? Okay?' She misunderstood his meaning of 'fuck me'. Meant as a reaction of disbelief, she took it as him asking her to have probing, penetrating, and pounding sex with her. She took him literally as if he wanted to fuck her, and of course, he did. Only, shocked by all her reaction and by all that's happened so far and thrilled by all that's transpired, he'd never take it upon himself to ask her for more. He couldn't believe that this beautiful, sexy woman he met a little more than an hour ago on the beach was giving him a blowjob while topless. He couldn't believe that this beautiful, sexy woman he met a little more than an hour ago on the beach had just agreed to fuck him. His dream woman was sucking his cock. A skilled cocksucker, without a doubt, this blowjob was not her first and definitely wouldn't be her last. A beautiful seductress, without a doubt, she was the sexiest and most beautiful woman he's ever met. Without a doubt, she's was giving him the best blowjob he's ever received in his life. Unable to let the memory of her go, he'll always remember her. In the way he dreams about her every night and thinks about her every day, she'll haunt him for the rest of his regretful, miserable, and sexually frustrated life. Tragically and unfortunately, the day that he met her and the day they had sex was the last day he saw her. To be continued... Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #02 Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote. * Unable to let her go, love at first sight and lost, Robert remembers Emma. As if he was being sentenced to death, about to be executed, and the man standing before him was his executioner, Robert stared through the priest as if he was the Grim Reaper. "If anyone objects to this marriage, let them speak now or forever hold your peace." In the way that everyone looked around the church expecting someone to object to this union of matrimony, including his bride, so did Robert. Only, no doubt, with his bride hoping that no one would object to their marriage, Robert looked around hoping that someone, anyone, would object to this marriage. Suddenly, as if he was transported as a character in a movie, the theme music of a recent movie, The Graduate, Simon & Garfunkel's Mrs. Robinson, played in his head. "...And here's to you Mrs. Robinson Jesus loves you more than you will know wo wo wo. God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson Heaven holds a place for those who pray Hey hey hey, hey hey hey." Praying to God, praying to every saint in Heaven, and praying to whichever dead relative was listening and whomever could help deliver him from his plight and this loveless marriage, Robert prayed. "Dear Heavenly Father, deliver me from Evil. Dear Saint Michael save me from myself. Dear Virgin Mary, stop me from making this horrible mistake. Dear Saint Anthony, find my lost, beloved Emma." He hoped that someone would save him from himself by objecting to this marriage. Suddenly developing a bad case of cold feet, he wanted to run screaming from the church. He didn't want to get married. On the chance he bumped into Emma again, still not giving up hope, he wanted to remain single. Should he see Emma again, he wanted to remain free, unencumbered, and unattached. He wanted to find his beloved Emma. He realized now, of all the time to realize it, that Emma is the one he wanted and not Lorraine. Emma is who he wanted to marry and not Lorraine. "And do you Robert take Emma as your lawfully, wedded wife?" 'Emma? Emma! Did the priest just say Emma? Am I marrying Emma and not Lorraine?' Shocked by the mere mention and by thought of her name, Robert refocused his stare on the priest before turning his head to look at his bride. Is Emma standing beside him and not Lorraine? Is he marrying Emma instead of Lorraine? 'Praise the Lord! His prayers worked. He had been saved. Oh, happy Day!' Wanting to make sure, he needed to know that the woman standing beside him, the woman that he was about to marry, and the woman who was about to be his lawfully wedded wife was Emma and not Lorraine. He'd be sexually excited out of his mind if she was Emma and not Lorraine. Only, when he turned to look at her, she smiled at him through her veil with love. She wasn't Emma. She was Lorraine. 'I'm doomed. My life is over,' he thought in sad silence. Instead of feeling happy that he was marrying Lorraine, he felt sad. Tragically disappointed as if he was Romeo in a Shakespearean play and had just found his beloved Juliette dead, he stared at the priest as if all of this mess was his fault. With his mind so focused on Emma instead of on his bride Lorraine, Robert had misheard the priest. The priest didn't say Emma, he said Lorraine. He wasn't marrying Emma. He was marrying Lorraine. 'Fuck! Fuck me. I'm fucked,' he thought suddenly feeling faint. He felt sick to his stomach. He felt as if his head was about to explode. He felt lost that he was never able to reconnect with his true love, the love of his life, Emma. 'Emma! Emma! Emma,' he said to himself as if calling for help from Satan by saying her name three times. "And do you Robert take Lorraine as your lawfully, wedded wife?" 'Huh? What? Lorraine? Hell no,' he wanted to say but he didn't. He looked at his bride again to make sure who she was. She's not Emma. She's Lorraine. This can't be happening. He's marrying Lorraine. Why the Hell is he marrying Lorraine when he loves Emma? Why the Hell is he marrying Lorraine when he wants to marry Emma? What about Emma? Where the Hell is Emma? 'Emma! Fuck! Fuck me,' he thought. 'God, I'm so fucked. I can't believe that I'm really marrying Lorraine.' He suddenly thought of Ben Braddock, played by Dustin Hoffman, rattling the window of the church in The Graduate to get the attention of Elaine Robinson, played by Katherine Ross. He wished Emma would suddenly emerge to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life in marrying Lorraine. He was marrying Lorraine. He couldn't believe he was marrying Lorraine. He didn't want to marry Lorraine. He wanted to marry Emma. Emma is the woman he loved and will always love and not Lorraine. Emma has his heart and his soul and not Lorraine. Emma makes his cock hard with sexual anticipation where Lorraine makes his dick limp with sexual realization. 'Help! Someone help me! Someone please object to this marriage,' he thought to himself while panicking inside. What's wrong with him? Why was he marrying Lorraine when he loved Emma? He loved Lorraine, of course, but not nearly as much and in the same way as he loved Emma. With him needing to settle down with a woman, marrying a woman like Lorraine was the right thing to do. He needed to move on with his life. He needed to forget Emma. She was a onetime thing. Chances are, he'll never see her again. While his love for Lorraine was proper and polite between a man and a woman and a husband and wife, his love for Emma was pure, animalistic passion. Never has he experienced such sexual lust. His sex with Lorraine was respectful while his sex with Emma was tumultuous. As opposed to his sexual nightmare with Lorraine, his love for Emma was obviously a sexual fantasy that he seemingly already had once, just once. His love for Lorraine was real enough but now that he was marrying her, his never ending sexual nightmare would continue for the rest of his miserable life. 'God help me,' he silently thought to himself. If only Emma was in church to object to this wedding, he'd marry her instead of Lorraine. If only Emma was in church to object to this wedding, he'd run away with her to live anywhere she wanted to live. As long as he was with her, he didn't care where she wanted to go. "Sorry Lorraine but I can't marry you. I don't love you. I love Emma," he imagined saying to his fiancé while running down the aisle hand and hand with Emma in the way that Ben Braddock ran away with Elaine Robinson. Yet, complicating matters more with the realism of a wedding, Lorraine was here standing next to him at the altar ready and willing to marry him. Only, he didn't want to marry Lorraine. He wanted to marry Emma. Emma was the woman he wanted. Emma was the woman he loved. Only, Emma was nowhere to be found. 'Emma,' he imagined screaming through the church. 'Emma!' Even though his heart longed for Emma and his soul begged for Emma, for some stupid, commonsense of a reason, his brain overruled his prick and picked Lorraine. Only, love has nothing to do with commonsense. Seeing now what he was unable to see before, his heart would be forever broken if he married Lorraine. Only, no one came forward to stop the wedding. No one pulled him away from Lorraine and from the altar. As if he was dead already, Robert was doomed for the rest of his life to live without Emma and to live with Lorraine. 'Oh, my God. What have I done?' In the way that Dustin Hoffman screamed, "Elaine! Elaine!" in the movie, The Graduate, Robert wanted to scream Emma. How dare he even think of another woman at a time like this? Yet, he did. Instead of thinking of Lorraine, he was thinking of Emma. Then, doing a complete one-eighty, instead of thinking of Emma, instead of thinking of anyone or anything else, and now thinking of only Lorraine, he answered the priest's question. "I do," said Robert turning to his bride to give her a loving smile while imagining Emma beneath the veil. As if she never really existed, the brief sexual affair that he had with Emma continued haunting him. He wondered where his beloved Emma was. He wondered if she was still traveling Europe. He wondered if she was already home or when she'd be returning to the United States. Not a letter or a card from her since that fateful day when he met her on the beach and she invited him home to make love to her, seemingly she no longer thought of him in the way that he always thought of her. Seemingly she didn't love him in the way he continued to love her. Continuing to hold a candle for her, the priest extinguished his candle with his words. "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride." Only, instead of thinking of Lorraine, he still thought of Emma. He felt guilty and felt like such a cad for thinking of another woman at a time like this. 'Fuck me,' he thought as soon as her heard the priest's words. 'I'm fucked. I'm so fucked.' When Lorraine lifted her veil for him to kiss her, he closed his eyes while imagining kissing Emma. Only, as soon as his lips touched Lorraine's lips, he knew that he wasn't kissing Emma. He knew that he had just married Lorraine. * * * * * A little more than a year later, Robert stared through the glass of the nursery in the maternity ward at the hospital. He stared at his baby girl, his newborn daughter. She was sleeping and he stared at her to see if she was still breathing. She was so small barely six pounds. Ready to rap on the glass for the nurse to check on her to see if she was still alive, he panicked and felt foolish when he saw his daughter move in her sleep. Even at a time like this, while seeing his baby girl for the first time, unable to stop himself from pondering, he wondered how different she'd look if he had the baby with Emma instead of with Lorraine. He wondered if they would have had a boy instead of a girl. He imagined how much happier he'd be if Emma was the one in the maternity ward and not Lorraine. In the way he felt guilty thinking of Emma when he was standing at the altar marrying Lorraine, he felt guilty and felt like such a cad for thinking of another woman at a time like this. Then, out of the blue, he wondered about something that he never wondered about before. No doubt the birth of his daughter inspired the thought. He didn't use protection when he had sex with Emma. What if he made her pregnant? He couldn't remember if he had ejaculated in her or not before her father caught them having sex. Even if he didn't ejaculate, all it would take is one drop of pre-cum to impregnate her. What if Emma getting pregnant was the reason why her father shipped her out of the country? What if she kept the baby instead of aborted the baby? What if she had a son? What if he has a son somewhere that he's never met? Only, he seriously doubted getting her pregnant. Why would someone like her, a rich girl, ruin her life to burden herself with a baby as if she's some ghetto baby's mama? She had other options available to her. There's no way she'd have that baby when she was starting college that September. His life was over when he said "I do." Now married to the wrong woman and having a child with the wrong woman, he was doomed. When the obstetrician severed that umbilical cord, severing all chances with Emma, the birth of his daughter was the end of his love for Emma. Even if he bumped into Emma now, she'd never want a man who left his wife and newborn baby for her. Even though this should be the beginning of his life with Lorraine, with him not in love with her in the way he was in love with Emma, his life was over. Difficult enough for him to have one woman on his mind, now he had three, Lorraine, his newborn baby girl, and Emma, always and forever, Emma. * * * * * With the ever more distant memory of her always on his mind, unable to stop himself from thinking about her, he wondered about Emma again. He wondered where she was. He wondered if she was married and if she had children in the way that he just had his first baby without her, the love of his life. As happy as he was with his newborn, baby girl and as terrible as it sounds but, if she appeared right here and right now, he'd leave Lorraine and his new, baby daughter for Emma. Emma is the woman he always loved. Emma is the woman he always wanted. Emma is the woman that he'd love forever. Yet, Emma was gone. Even if he found her again, stumbled upon her at the beach where he first met her, would she even remember him? Or with their first meeting just a sexual moment in time, would she remember who the Hell he is? Maybe she did what she did to him to a multitude of men. Maybe sexually teasing and enticing men was nothing more than a joke to her. As if she suddenly died and was dead and buried, married now with child, how could he continue to pine over the loss of her? He needed to get on with his life. Not fair to his wife, as if he had been cheating on Lorraine by thinking of Emma, he needed to forget about her. Not fair to him, he had been torturing himself with the memory of her. He needed to excise Emma from his mind. He needed to stop allowing her to haunt him. He needed to enjoy what he had before him instead of lusting over what he didn't have and would never have. He needed to focus his love on Lorraine and on his newborn, baby daughter. How dare he even think of another woman at a time like this? Yet, he did. Something not to be, deep down in the pit of his stomach, he felt empty. He felt hungry. He felt incomplete without having Emma in his life. He felt cheated. Instead of feeling happy on what should have been the second happiest day of his life, he felt sad. Yet, if he was counting the happiest days of his life, getting married to Lorraine and her giving birth to their daughter would pale in comparison to the day that he met and had sex with Emma. Why wasn't she in his life? Why wasn't he with her? As if God played a joke on him, why was he with Lorraine instead of with Emma, the love of his life? After finally finding her, how so very tragic for him to lose her? How so very tragic to suffer through life not only married to the wrong woman but also to have a child with the wrong woman? Now, with the memory of her still haunting him, he wished he had never met Emma. * * * * * Twenty-five years after he married Lorraine, Emma was even more of a distant memory. Instead of thinking of her every day, multiple times a day, he thought of her whenever he saw something that reminded him of the memory of her. He thought of her whenever he had his hand around his cock and was masturbating himself over the sexual memory of her. Even then, he still remembered her but he couldn't clearly see her as he once had. Quieted by the sounds of his everyday life, after twenty-five years of being married to Lorraine, no longer could he hear the sexy sound of Emma's voice or the melodious sound of her laugh. As if she never really existed and was nothing more than a mere, faded figment of his imagination, still sometimes haunting him, she was relegated to being a distant ghost from his past. With every day that passed, he thought less of her. As if she was dead and long since buried, with every day that passed, he missed her less. Yet, on those days that he was the most restless, loneliest, and horniest, there were some days that he could clearly see her as if she was standing there in his house and in his bedroom. On those days that he could clearly see her, those were the days that he missed her the most. Those were the days that he regretted marrying Lorraine. Those were the days that he realized the mistake he made in marrying Lorraine instead of Emma. Those were the days that he wondered how different his life would have been married to Emma. Those were the days when he was so sad that he could just crack and crumble like dust falling to his feet. Only, even time couldn't get in the way of the love he felt for her and would always feel for her. If he were to see her right here and right now, he'd leave his present life to live his future life with her. Only, chances are, she wouldn't even remember who in the Hell he is. Chances are, just as she wouldn't like the man he had become, he wouldn't want the woman she was now. Just because he's always been in love with her doesn't mean that she's always been in love with him. Just because he still thinks of her doesn't mean that she still thinks of him. Just because the memory and the possibilities of her in his life haunts him doesn't mean that the memory and the possibilities of him in her life haunts her. After not seeing her in more than two and a half decades, no doubt, she's a totally different woman than the 19-year-old women he met. * * * * * As if he was the only one there, Robert stared through all of the people who were in church as he walked his daughter, Cynthia, down the aisle in her wedding dress to give her away. Then, once again, of all times and in all places, as if she haunted him, he thought of Emma. He imagined beautiful, sexy Emma sitting in the first row instead of seeing Lorraine sitting there so proudly and profoundly happy at her daughter's wedding. He wondered how different his daughter would have looked if Emma had been her mother instead of Lorraine. Definitely, she'd be taller and have bigger tits. Perhaps instead of having his chestnut brown hair and ordinary brown eyes, she'd take after her mother and have blue-black hair with violet, blue eyes instead of having brown hair and brown eyes. It amazed him how one change in marrying one woman over another woman had a continued chain reaction in altering his life forever. 'Emma,' he wanted to scream. 'Emma,' he wished she was there waiting to take him away with her to Europe. How dare he even think of another woman at a time like this? Yet, he did. With this one of the happiest days of his life, he was sad. Not fair to Lorraine or fair to his daughter, he has wasted his whole life thinking of the one woman he wanted instead of thinking of the two woman he had. Again, as he's felt throughout his life, he felt cheated. He felt deceived. As if prematurely pulled from his heart, he felt denied her love. As if someone had played an evil joke on him for him to see how his life could have been before pulling the plug and exposing the prank, he made the best out of what he had. Obviously he had Lorraine instead of Emma. With Lorraine a wonderful woman, a good mother, a great cook, and a happy homemaker, but a total, uninspired dud in bed, he could have done much worse. With him always the sensitive, attentive, and loving husband, he couldn't help but wonder how different his life would have been married to Emma instead of to Lorraine. Definitely, for sure, the sex would be so much better. Not only wasn't she any good at having sex, Lorraine didn't like sex. Yet, sex wasn't everything he told himself and actually sometimes believed that until he thought of Emma French kissing him in her hall while she was topless. Unlike Emma who gobbled his cock, Lorraine didn't suck cock, she dabbled. He couldn't remember when she took his cock in her mouth. Uncomfortable taking his stiff prick in her mouth, she kissed his cock and licked his cock instead of sucking his cock. Instead of ejaculating his sexual lust in Emma's willing mouth, he had to be content to cum on Lorraine's modest breasts. In their 25 years of marriage, never has he ever ejaculated his cum in Lorraine's mouth. Begging her to blow him, really suck him, she refused taking him in her mouth. Instead she gave him hand jobs, a thousand hand jobs when he prefer that she'd blow him just once. Certainly sex isn't everything, especially now that he's older, more mature, and has less testosterone running through his veins. Yet, had he married Emma, a sexual firecracker, a real sex bomb, sexually, he could have done so very much better. With Emma loving to travel and Lorraine such a homebody, his life would have been so very different in virtually all respects. He couldn't even imagine how different his life would have been with Emma in his life, in his head, and in his bed instead of Lorraine. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #02 Whenever he had sex with Lorraine, he always felt that she was having sex with him as her wifely duty and nothing more. She never relaxed. As if he was a rapist, she always seemed tense and even seemingly turned off by his erection. She never initiated sex. With him making love to her and being as lovingly tender as he could, she made him feel that he was groping her and forcing her to do sexual things that she didn't want to do. She seldom had an orgasm. A huge understatement, it wasn't as much fun having sex with Lorraine as he remembered it was having sex with Emma. Because of the way she viewed sex and all things sexual, seldom did they have sex. Yet, it wasn't only just about the sex. Emma was so much more fun. She was sexy. She was witty. She was smart. She was funny. She had a much better personality and sense of humor. She made him laugh with happiness when Lorraine made him want to cry with misery. Emma was exciting and Lorraine was boring. Taller, shapelier, and so much more beautiful, Emma was a better woman than Lorraine in every way. In the way that he saw Emma naked the first time he met her, he can't remember when he ever saw Lorraine naked. If he had artistic abilities and talents, even after having not seen her without her clothes in twenty-five years, he could still paint Emma naked. With him seeing Lorraine every day, multiple times a day but without him seeing her naked and unable to even imagine her without her clothes, he couldn't paint Lorraine naked in the way that he could paint Emma. Even after all of these years, with it so easy for him to imagine Emma naked he couldn't imagine Lorraine naked enough to paint her. A morally modest woman, Lorraine always undressed and dressed in the bathroom. When in the bedroom, she always dressed and undressed without the light. When they had sex, never did she turn on a light. Never did she strip naked. As if she was a modestly, moral, Victorian woman from the 1890's, she lifted her nightgown and/or unbuttoned her nightgown instead of removing it. Forget about even seeing her tits, her areolas, and/or her nipples, even after being married to her for twenty-five years, he never saw Lorraine's pussy in the way that he saw Emma's pussy the first time he met her. Just as Lorraine didn't suck his cock, she didn't want him giving her oral sex. She thought oral sex was dirty and a good way to spread not only germs but also diseases. Definitely, with her taking nothing serious, he'd be laughing more had he married Emma. With her spontaneous and daring, he'd have more fun had he married Emma instead of Lorraine. If he had married Emma, he'd do and try new things that Lorraine would never do and try. Just as Lorraine was content to live in the same house and remain in the same neighborhood for the rest of her life, he imagined Emma continuing her world tour with someone other than him. With Emma so adventurously impulsive, she was an eternal flame where Lorraine was a dying ember. * * * * * Forty years after he married Lorraine, Robert stared at her coffin while mindlessly shaking men's hands and hugging and kissing women on the cheek. They all obviously thought that he was in shock. They all obviously thought that he was in mourning. Only, so terrible to even think that, he was just happy that Lorraine was in the casket and not Emma. With his internal thoughts and hope dying with her, he couldn't bear it if Emma was dead. He hoped she was out there somewhere and thinking about him in the way that he never stopped thinking of her. Now with Lorraine gone and even before her body was buried in the ground, his thoughts were with Emma instead of his deceased wife. How dare he even think of another woman at a time like this? Yet, he did. Always he did. He wondered who's she with and where she is now. As he always wondered before, he wondered if she's married and has children. Of course she's married. Of course she has children. Why wouldn't she? As he always wondered before, he wondered if she thought of him in the way he thought of her. Probably not. She probably doesn't remember him at all. He put Emma out of his mind for a moment to reflect on the woman before him in the casket, the woman who gave him forty years of her life. Only with Emma always haunting him, he was never truly happy with Lorraine in the way he would have been truly happy with Emma. Just going through the motions of living married live with Lorraine while thinking of Emma, he felt trapped. He felt suffocated. He felt prematurely dead. With him always feeling tired, sad, and depressed, having no energy, and no reason now to live but for his daughter and grandchildren, he felt as dead as his wife was dead now. With Emma not in his life, he always he felt empty, dissatisfied, restless, and unfulfilled. Now with his wife dead too, he just felt sad and lost. How could one chance meeting with a person forty years ago ruin his life? Now that his wife was dead, where did he go from here? What would he do now that the one person he had in life, his best friend, and his wife, the woman who wasn't the love of his life, is gone? Gone, gone, gone, she's just as gone as Emma and now he's alone. * * * * * He wondered if Emma is a widow in the way that he's now a widower. Now that her father is no doubt dead and unable to forbid her from seeing him, wouldn't that be something to rekindle their love affair after forty years? Nothing more than a dream, wouldn't that be something to find Emma again? Nothing more than a sexual fantasy, wouldn't that be something to continue where they left off and to finish what they started? Wouldn't that be something if Emma mourned the loss of him in her life in the way that he's mourned the loss of her in his life? Only nothing more than the ridiculous meanderings of an old man's convoluted imagination, just as Emma was gone when she left the country, after sharing forty years of his life with Lorraine, Lorraine was gone from his life for good now too. Maybe Emma would be there waiting for him in Heaven. Maybe when he dies, she would be there in the white light to welcome him. With his luck, Lorraine would be there too pulling him away from his beloved Emma while hitting the both of them with her pocketbook. Not fair. Not right. Why did he stay with a woman that he obviously didn't love in the way that he obviously loved Emma? Why didn't he search the world for Emma? Why did he give up on her just because her father forbade him to see her and shipped her off to school somewhere in Europe? He should have chased after her but where would he had gone to find her? France? Italy? England? A working stiff living week to week and dependent on his job to exist, he wasn't rich like her. He had no money. With him traveling nowhere and going nowhere, he didn't even have a passport. With him knowing so little about her other than she was beautiful and sexy, he had no idea where she went. After dreaming of finding someone like her, how could he allow her walk away? With the memory of her still haunting him, Emma, not Lorraine, has ruined his life. With her in his head and in his bed whenever he was with Lorraine, with him always comparing his wife to Emma, she made it impossible for him to truly love Lorraine in the way that he truly loved Emma. To be continued... Please give me the support of your vote. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #03 Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote. * We all have a lost love, a love that was never meant to be. Robert recalls his firs time with Emma. Emma took him by his hand and led him to her bedroom. Once there she pressed her naked breasts and her bikini bottom, clad pussy against him in a full body to body hug. Then she kissed him again. She French kissed him. This kiss was as good as the first kiss. Every kiss was as good as the first kiss. Kissing and kissing him, she couldn't stop kissing him. Kissing and kissing her, he couldn't stop kissing her. Every kiss blanked his mind and fueled his sexual desire and lust for her. As if he was already madly in love with her, love at first sight, every kiss made him fall deeper in love with her. As if she was a good witch casting a love spell on him, he loved her the first time he saw her walking on the beach from afar. As if they were hogtied together, without breaking their kiss, they walked backwards and sideways while kissing. When they reached her bed, she pushed him back and he sat on her bed. Then, while staring in his brown eyes with her violet eyes, she tucked her fingers inside of her bikini bottoms and paused as if to make sure he was looking. He was looking alright. He was staring. Now that he had seen her naked breasts, he couldn't wait to see her naked ass and pussy too. As if she was a stripper on stage doing a sexy striptease show, she ever so slowly removed her bikini bottom. Slowly, inch by inch she lowered her bathing suit. All he saw was skin. Moving her bikini bottom lower and lower, he didn't see any pubic hair. He figured she was trimmed but, instead, she was shaved. He couldn't believe she was shaved. Her pussy was the first shaved pussy he had seen up close that wasn't in a glossy magazine. Her having a shaved pussy made her look even younger than she was. She looked like a little girl instead of a 19-year-old nearly adult woman. He stared at her naked cunt afraid to touch her pussy for fear that she'd awaken from whatever dream she was having and recoil before asking him to leave her bedroom, her house, and her life forever. Instead, leading the way with her making the first sexual move and making the rest of the sexual moves, she took his hand in hers and kissed it before moving his palm to her naked pussy. Not turning down her invitation to touch her, he cupped her pussy in the palm of her hand. A place where only her boyfriend, her fiancé, or her husband should dare see her and touch her, he was seeing and touching her now. Never had he felt anything as soft and as smooth as Emma's shaved pussy. As what would have been evidence by the color of her pubic hair, he didn't need to see her hairy, black bush or her trimmed runway of black, pubic hair to know that she was a natural brunette, the real deal. Not that brunettes hide their real hair color in the way that bottled blondes do, he was just glad that she didn't ruin her beautiful dark hair by trying to make it lighter. With her having no different colored roots showing or hair that felt like straw from being over processed, he could tell that she was born a brunette. The hair on her head hair was as beautiful and as soft as her bald pussy. As evidenced by the color of her eyebrows, her complexion, and her beautiful, lush, long, straight, black hair, he knew she was a natural brunette and not conceived and colored from a Clairol bottle. Unable to avert his stare from her pussy other than to stare up at her pretty face and her violet eyes, he stared at her bald pussy as if he had never seen a pussy before. Even though his hand was cupping her pussy, afraid to move his hand, he couldn't wait to finger her. In the way she tasted him, he couldn't wait to taste her. In the way she sucked him, he couldn't wait to lick her. He couldn't wait to give her as much sexual pleasure as she had already given him with her kisses, by allowing him to feel her naked breasts, finger her erect nipples, and by briefly sucking him. In all the forty years he had been with Lorraine, he had never had as much sexual pleasure in the brief time that he had with Emma. 'Emma. Emma,' he thought of her often. 'Emma. Emma,' he missed and yearned to see her again. He wondered where she was and who she was with. He didn't think for a second that someone who looked like her would be living alone. He wondered if she was happy. He wondered if she thought of him in the way that he was tortured to continue to think of her. He wondered if he haunted her thoughts in the way that she haunted his thoughts. 'Emma. Emma,' he as much as he like saying her name and writing her name, he liked thinking her name. Just two syllables and four letters, how can someone with such a small name hold such power over him? 'Emma.' As if slowly tickling her, he slowly moved his finger along her pussy slit. Again and again he slid his finger along her pussy until he applied more pressure to his finger and parted her pussy lips as if parting a ripe piece of firm, sweet fruit. As soon as he felt her warm, wetness, she gasped, closed her eyes, and tilted back her head. She was so very wet and he was so very hard. He moved his finger along the inside of her vagina until he found the bottom of her clit. He rubbed her clit and the more he rubbed her the more sexually excited she became. Then, probing her deeper with another finger while still rubbing her clit, just by fingering and rubbing her pussy, she was his women to do whatever he sexually pleased and whatever was her sexual pleasure. He loved her pussy as much as he loved her tits. Tempted to spin her around and bend her over, he couldn't wait to see her naked ass. As if awakening an android, she popped open her eyes to stare down at him fingering her. Her staring at him while she was naked and while his fingers were inside of her was so erotic. Never would he ever expect to get this far with her when he first saw her from afar on the beach. He would have been happy just knowing her name so that he could take her with him in his dreams that night. He would have been thrilled to have her phone number. Never did he expect that he'd be sitting on her bed while fingering her naked body. "Lick me Robert," he remembered Emma leaning down to whisper her sexual desire in his ear. "I want to feel your fingers and your tongue inside of me," she said as if asking him for a massage instead of asking him to give her cunnilingus. She wants him to eat her. This beautiful woman wants him to give her oral sex. She wants him to give her cunnilingus. More than willing to oblige her, he couldn't believe she wants him to lick her pussy while fingering her pussy. If her French kissing him, stripping off her bikini top, and sucking his cock wasn't enough, she now wants him to give her oral sex. Having just met her a little more than an hour ago, she had already given him a lifetime of sexual fantasies and masturbation fodder. Perhaps after he gives her an orgasm with his lips, his fingers, and with his tongue, hopefully after she allows him to make love to her before fucking her, she'll give him a sexual orgasm with her hand, her lips, and her tongue too. With Robert happy to oblige, he watched her remove her bikini bottoms. Never expecting her to not have any pubic hair, she had surprised him that she was shaved. He imagined her lying on a table naked from the waist down while some Asian woman gave her a bikini wax. He wouldn't mind having that job along with being a mammogram technician. 'Ouch,' he thought to himself when he saw her shaved pussy. "Didn't that hurt?' Accustomed to seeing trimmed and bushy pussies, after seeing her vagina without there being a strand of hair in the way, never had he seen so much of a woman's pussy. With her clitoris extending a little past her pussy lips, she looked at if she had a little penis. As if he was a medical doctor, a forensic scientist, a sculptor, or a painter, he wanted to study her cunt before fingering her cunt and before licking her cunt. As if she was something good to eat and certainly she was, he wanted to take all of her in by sniffing her first. Wanting to embrace all of his five senses when having sex with her, he wanted to not only see her pussy but also he wanted to touch her pussy, smell her pussy, and taste her pussy before hearing her having a sexual orgasm. Never had he met anyone like her. With her not shy, unembarrassed, and/or unashamed by her nudity, she acted as if she had stripped naked many times before in front of someone she just met and didn't even know. Perhaps she suns herself nude on the beach. As if they were doing a Playboy photo shoot, she showed him her naked body as if she was a nude model and he was a photographer. Not shy, embarrassed, or ashamed, she showed him her naked body as if he was her husband, fiancé, or boyfriend. She showed him her naked body as if she had stood before him naked a hundred times before. Later in life when married to his wife of forty years, Emma showed him her naked body in the way that Lorraine never showed him her naked body. She made herself comfortable on her bed next to him and spread her knees to show him even more of her glistening pink, pretty pussy. When she did that, with her being so very sexual, he imagined her touching herself and masturbating herself. He never thought pussies were pretty but after seeing Emma's pink, pretty pussy, she had the most beautiful pussy he had ever seen. She had the most beautiful pussy in the world, or so he thought. Generally having sex with women in the dark, other than those glossy pussy photos he's seen in men's magazines, this was the first pussy he had seen in the daylight. She was already so very wet, so very slippery wet. She was so very sexy, Victoria's Secret model sexy. Unable to wrap his brain around seeing such a beautiful woman naked, he watched her touch herself. As if she was about to masturbate herself in front of him, she rubbed her clit while fingering her pussy before moving her fingers to her lips to suck them. 'Holy shit,' he thought to himself. Something that a man would never do, taste his own cum, she tasted her own pussy secretions. 'Man, it's like she just licked her own pussy,' thought Robert while watching Emma taking her fingers from her pussy to her mouth and suck them. Then, as if the first time wasn't enough, she touched herself again. This time loading up her fingers with her sticky, sweet, vagina secretions, she reached over to slide her fingers slowly across his lips. Showing her that he liked playing this sexy game, he sucked her fingers before licking his lips. With her sweet, musky aroma of sex filling his nose and his tempting his taste buds, he already had the sensation of just having eaten her when he hasn't even yet licked her. If the teasing appetizer of her pussy that she slid across his lips tasted this good, he couldn't wait to dive in and make a whole meal of her pussy. Following her lead, he stood and stripped off his clothes. As proud to show her his naked body as she was to show him her naked body, he watch her eyes dart down to his cock. This beautiful, sexy, naked woman was staring at his erect prick. Life doesn't get any better than this. He sat beside her and stared over at her naked body while she stared at his naked body. Then, he felt and fondled her naked breasts and fingered her erect nipples while she reached her hand down to fondle the head of his naked prick. Already, she had given him quite an erotic, X-rated, sexy show of her naked body. With her already having given him a partial blowjob, after he sexually pleasured her, he couldn't wait for her to really suck his cock. He couldn't wait to cum in her mouth and watch her swallow his cum. Obviously, with her touching herself and licking her vaginal secretions from her fingers, and with her already so very wet, she was just as sexually excited as he is. Just as he couldn't wait for her to suck him again, obviously she couldn't wait for him to lick her. Only being cautious and careful, with him not really knowing her all that well, he needed to play his cards right so as not to spook her. Careful not to offend her or inadvertently insult her, he didn't want to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing. As if walking a tightrope, a balancing act, he didn't want her suddenly realizing that he was no one special. He didn't want her pulling the plug before he inserted his tongue inside of her and his cock was buried deep in her pussy. Afraid she'd change her mind about having sex with him, no means no. The one word he didn't want to hear her say was no. He didn't want her suddenly changing her mind about giving him hot sex and rejecting him when he dared show her that he sexually wants her as much as she seemingly, sexually wants him. Only, more than just sex, he hoped this wasn't just a one-time thing. He'd love nothing more than to have her as his steady girlfriend, his fiancé, his wife, and his partner for life. Only, perhaps confusing lust for love, he was getting way ahead of himself in his sexual attraction to her. Totally baffled by her sexual aggressiveness, confused by her beauty and conflicted by his averageness, never had he met any woman like her. He couldn't help from thinking why someone who looked like her would want someone who looked like him. Not considering her a whore or even a slut, already putting her high up on his pedestal of rare beauty by assigning her his highest number of ten, she was just sexy. Even more than her being beautiful and sexy, seemingly she was just as horny as he was. Never had he met a woman who enjoyed sex and sexual teasing as much as Emma did. She was the first woman who didn't make him feel sexually perverted by his obvious sexual attraction to her. Instead of rejecting him, she embraced him. Instead of making him feel that she was giving him sex just to appease him, it was obvious to him that she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her. As he was soon to discover and regret for the rest of his days, life with her would have been so very much better than living his life with Lorraine. With her continuing to haunt him, life without her was pure torture. With him having yet another flashback of Emma naked, she had such an incredible body. Her body was so much better than Lorraine's shapeless body, what little he had seen of it. What Emma had over Lorraine in curves, something he sexually desired in high esteem, Lorraine had over Emma in modesty, a quality that he didn't cherish at all. In hindsight, when he was with Emma that fateful day, he wished he had a camera. Only, they didn't have digital cameras back then. They had Polaroid, instant cameras that weren't as instant compared to the digital cameras of today. Besides, even if he happened to have a 35mm camera with him, unless he developed the film himself, he wouldn't be able to even get the pictures developed. He didn't know how to develop his own pictures and even if he did know how to develop them, he didn't have a darkroom. Back then, no reputable photography store would develop nude or pornographic photos. If he did find somewhere to develop the pictures, no doubt the store owner and/or the store employees would make copies of Emma's naked body for themselves. In hindsight, he wondered if she would have allowed him to take a few candid, sexy, cheesecake photos of her in her bikini, topless and/or naked. With her not embarrassed by or having shame about her naked body in the way that so many women do, no doubt, she probably would have allowed him to take a few sexy photos of her. If nothing more to prove to himself that she wasn't a figment of his imagination, he would have liked to have some naked photos to remember her by and masturbate over. He would have liked to have a photo of her to treasure instead of just having the memory of her that he always carried around with him in his head and that had slowly continued to fade and distort over the years. 'Emma. Where are you?' * * * * * An endless video loop that played through his mind no matter where he was or who he was with, Robert remembered Emma, the love of his life, as if she was lost at sea, drowned, and dead forever. Never forgetting that first kiss, he remembered their first kiss as if it happened yesterday instead of forty, long years ago, a lifetime ago. It's funny how easily some people, once close friends, neighbors, and even relatives, are forgotten while others he never forgets. With her one of those people that he'd never forget, taking the memory of her to his grave, he'd never forget Emma. With how much the memory of her meant to him through the years, he'd never, ever forget her. How could he forget someone who looked like her and who was so full of life and love? Having never seen her again after that one time they were together, he still remembered her as if she was still 19-years-old. In his mind, with her an ageless beauty, she'd always be 19-years-old. Unable to go there even in his thoughts, he couldn't even imagine her wrinkled with grey hair and saggy breasts. Something that's never happened to him since, she caught him by complete surprise with her kiss. Spontaneous in her apparent passion for him, Emma kissed him out of the blue. She kissed him. He couldn't believe she kissed him. Too stunned to return her kiss, he didn't kiss her back. When he didn't return her kiss, she kissed him again. He wanted to kiss her but he didn't, he couldn't. Instead, obviously tired of waiting for him to kiss her, even though they had just met less than an hour ago, she kissed him. As stunned as he was sexually excited, he couldn't believe she kissed him. He couldn't believe someone who looked like her would kiss someone who looked like him. Then, when she removed her bikini top to show him her breasts he was as shocked as he was sexually excited. Even then, he never would have found the courage to feel her naked breasts, fondled her naked breasts, and finger her erect nipples had she not taken his hands in hers and put them on her tits. * * * * * Love not meant to be, she was his Juliet and he was her Romeo. As if he was Miguel de Cervantes' Don Quixote, she was his beautiful Dulcinea. As if he was the repressed butler James Stevens, played by Anthony Hopkins, and Emma was his Miss Kenton played by Emma Thompson in Kazuo Ishiguro's, The Remains of the Day, he yearned for Emma. He thought of Margaret Mitchell's Gone with the Wind, "I loved something I made up, something that's just as dead as Melly is. And when Ashley came riding along, so handsome, so different, I put that suit on him and made him wear it whether if fitted him or not. And I wouldn't see what he really was. I kept on loving the pretty clothes-and not him at all." With the suit that she wore every day her beauty and her sexuality, he wondered if he'd still love the person she was inside if she wasn't as beautiful and as sexual. Probably not. Wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him and deceiving him into believing that she's something she's not, he wondered if perhaps Emma wasn't real at all but just a figment of his imagination. After loving her for more than forty years, a lifetime, he wondered if he had just imagined her. He wondered why he continued loving a woman who may not even be real. No woman could ever measure up to how he now imagined her without falling short. The memory of her was surely convoluted and distorted after forty years of not seeing her in the flesh but now only remembering what she looked like in his mind's eye. He could have been a character in Charles Dickens, Great Expectations. Rather than being Pip lusting over Estella, he commiserated more with Miss Havisham in the way she was jilted by her intended at the altar. Even though he was glad that he met her, kissed her, and had sex with her, he couldn't help but feel tricked, deceived, and jilted. Curious if she'd tell him that she loved him at first sight too, he felt cheated by not having the chance to tell Emma that he loved her at first sight. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #03 What if she did love him at first sight? What if she had been pining over him in the way that he had been pining over her? A different time back then with no cell phones or Internet, it was impossibly difficult to find someone within the United States never mind someone who had left the country. He felt sad that he wasn't standing next to Emma at the altar instead of Lorraine. As if he was a character in Edith Wharton's novel, The Age of Innocence, in the way that Ellen Olenska, played by Michelle Pfeifer, was Newland Archer's unrequited love, played by Daniel Day-Lewis, Emma was his unrequited love. Sometimes he felt as if he was a character in F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel, The Great Gatsby. In the way that Jay Gatsby, played by Robert Redford, never forgot Daisy Buchannan, played by Mia Farrow, impossible to forget her, yet harder to remember her as the years passed, Robert never forgot Emma. Every time he witnessed a lover's kiss, he thought of kissing Emma. Every time he happened upon a wedding, he thought of Emma. Every time he saw a newborn baby, he thought of Emma. Every time he saw a fireworks display lighting up the sky, he thought of Emma. Then, with the noise and the colors fading from the night's sky to only leave smoke behind, as soon as the fireworks were over, he was sad. Seemingly not meant to be, Emma was gone, gone forever. 'Emma. I shall always love you,' he thought while thinking of her as if she was still in his life. After forty years, crystal clear at first, then gone blurry, with his life with Lorraine interfering with his memory of Emma, as if she was nothing more than a ghost from the past, she was fading. Lusting over her forever, still holding his eternal candle for her in the wind, he'd die if he couldn't remember her. Loving her forever, his one true love, now that Lorraine was gone and he was free, he'd die if he couldn't hear the voice and the laugh of Emma, his lost love. Just once, he'd love to see her again, even if only from afar. Only, now that he's a 65-year-old sexually inactive man instead of a 25-year-old testosterone filled young man, even if he found his Emma, he could do little more than hug her, kiss her, touch her, and feel her. Maybe for the first time in his life, he'd have his doctor prescribe Viagra but getting ahead of himself again, the chances of him seeing Emma again were slim to nil. He was brokenhearted that he didn't marry the one woman that he loved and will always love. Lost in his quiet desperation, he was utterly and completely invisible. He was undone. He was finished. With his life nearly over, if he couldn't have Emma, he was done with love. Even though he lived a good life as a husband and a father, he couldn't help the inescapable feeling that he had wasted his life loving the wrong woman. He didn't want to marry Lorraine. He wanted to marry Emma. Emma was the woman he truly loved, not Lorraine. * * * * * "Emma, Emma, Emma," as if summoning the Devil, he said her name three times out loud for no one to hear. "Emma, Emma, Emma," in case the powers who could reveal her to him didn't hear him, he repeated her name three times again. Having played it over and again in his mind, their first kiss was magical. That first kiss was everything. The reason why he wanted her, lusted over her, and loved her for forty years, was in that one, first kiss. Everything about that one kiss was as if he was living an enchanted fairy-tale that was prematurely taken away from him and ended forever by some evil witch. Even though she was a good wife but for the lack of sex, sense of fun, adventure, and impulsiveness, maybe Lorraine was his evil witch. Maybe Lorraine was the one who cast an evil spell on him in the way that Emma had cast a good spell on him. Maybe Emma was the elusive good witch who disappeared somewhere on that beach that day instead of her disappearing in a magic forest. Without doubt, with all of the women he had met in his life, he'd never seen anyone as beautiful and as sexy as Emma. Indeed, with her so unbelievable, she must have been enchanted. Just as he was enchanted by the rare beauty and by the aggressive sexuality of her, he was enchanted by her first kiss. As if he was Snow White instead of her and she was Prince Charming instead of him, with her first kiss, she awakened him from his slumber of never having loved anyone. Before her kissing him, he stumbled through his life without loving anyone, until he met Emma. Filled with passion, lust, and sexual excitement, that one, first kiss was the highlight of his existence. Filled with passion, lust, and sexual excitement that one, first kiss threatened to ruin his life and seemingly that one, first kiss did ruin his life. Still carrying a torch for her, imagining seeing her with every car, bus, and train that went by, he had loved her for forty years. Forever connected to her, that one, first kiss was real. Forever lusting over, loving her, and missing her, that one, first kiss was special. With all of the girlfriends he has had before she kissed him, never has he been kissed like that by anyone before, even by his wife. Never has a woman evoked such power feelings of lust and love in him just by her kiss. He wished he could kiss her again now to see if the same feeling of lust and love would happen. Would she blank his mind again with her kiss? Even though he never stopped loving her, would she make him fall in love with her again with just one kiss? With her seemingly gone from his life forever and with him never knowing the answer to his questions, he never stopped wondering about her, missing her, and loving Emma. 'Emma.' Had he not married Lorraine, no doubt, he would have continued looking for Emma. Had he not married Lorraine, maybe he would have found his beloved. Had he not married Lorraine, maybe he wouldn't feel as lost and as sad as he was now with him feeling that he wasted his life married to the wrong woman. Should he ever meet Emma again, with her either possibly rejecting him, embracing him, or not even remembering him, at least he'd finally have had answers to his questions. At least he'd finally put her to rest and not continue to lust over her and continue to love her for the rest of his life. Yet, had she embraced him and told him that she loved him too, they could have lived happily ever after. Yet, had he met her again, no matter if she didn't recognize him, know who he was, and/or share his feelings of love, no doubt, he'd still love her. He couldn't stop loving her. With her the one and the only, the woman of his dreams, he couldn't help himself from loving her. "Emma, Emma, Emma." He loved saying her name. Where is she? What is she doing? Is she sad? Is she lonely? Is she happy? Is she healthy? Is she sexually satisfied? Is she still alive? Does she ever think of him in the way he had continually thought of her throughout his life? No doubt, she was with someone else. Surely, certainly, and without a doubt, someone who looks like her and who was so full of life should never be without a man in her life. No doubt, she was married with kids. No doubt, she was kissing someone else while blanking their mind and causing them to not only fall in love with her but also continue to be in love with her. No doubt, she had been happily married and making love to someone else. No doubt, she had been sucking and fucking another man and he had been licking and fucking her while he had been pining over the loss of her. 'Emma.' With all of the money her father had, after him sending her off to school in Europe, she was probably traveling the world. With her loving the water, she probably was living the good life in some foreign country by the French Riviera or in some big house that overlooks the ocean. Maybe along the way, she had broken a dozen men's hearts in the way she broke his heart. Maybe in the way that he didn't stay true to her by marrying Lorraine, she gave her life to God, became a nun, and was living in a convent. He liked thinking that if he couldn't have her that no one else was good enough for her but God. To be continued... Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #04 Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote. * We all have a lost love. A kiss that lasted for forty years. A first time for everything, no woman had ever kissed him first before he kissed her. He wanted to kiss her but, having just met the woman not even an hour ago, he didn't want to rush her or pressure her. He was afraid. Fearing that he'd ruin things before talking to her and getting to know her better, with most women wanting to take things slow, he was afraid to prematurely make a sexual move on her. Besides with her so drop dead gorgeous, he didn't have the confidence that she'd want him as much as he wanted her. Not that he was a bad looking man, considered good looking actually, but why would someone who looks like her want someone who looks like him when obviously she could have anyone. As if having an out of body experience, with him somewhere up on "cloud nine," while looking down and watching her kissing him, he still couldn't believe that she kissed him. She kissed him. Emma kissed him. If he dreamt of her kissing him, he couldn't have had a better dream than this one memory that she left him to cherish for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, it was an incomplete memory without closure for him to heal his broken heart. With him forever loving her, he'd always wonder if she forever loved him too. Cursed to remember her and her first kiss forever, he'd never forget her or that first kiss. 'My God. What a woman? Such an incredible woman. What an unbelievable woman? Emma, I love you,' he said hearing his words echo through his head before resonating in the hole of his empty heart. 'I love you. I love you. I love you. Emma, I love you.' In hindsight, in love with her at first sight, not taking no for an answer, sounding preposterous then but not as much now, he should have asked her to marry him. Only, with her only 19-years old and with him 25-years-old, if he had asked her to marry him, she may have thought he had lost his mind and obviously he did when she kissed him. Yet, she was the one who kissed him almost immediately after meeting him and he didn't think that she had lost her mind. If he thought anything, he thought that she was the best thing that ever happened to him. If he thought anything, he realized that he had the chance to ask her to be with him for the rest of their lives and blew it by not acting on his impulses and going after her no matter what her father said. Only, she was so very young and he was so much older. Now with him 65-years-old and her 59-years-old, their ages wouldn't matter now as much as it mattered then. Yet, in the eyes of her father he was a loser. Just as he was then, he still is now, a nothing and a no one. He was just a working stiff who couldn't give her the lifestyle she had grown accustomed to living with her being Daddy's rich, little girl. He didn't stand a chance of marrying her. If anything, her father had done him a favor by shipping her off to school to Europe. Only, who knew he'd fall so hard for her? Who knew, after he left her that he'd lust over her? Who knew, after she had left that he'd love her and pine over the loss of her for the next forty years? Who knew that he'd still think of her now after all of these years? Seemingly a one-sided love affair not meant to be, he wished he could forget her but he can't; he just can't. He still doodles her name while wondering where she is, who she is with, and what she is doing. 'Emma. Where are you?' * * * * * So long ago, a lifetime ago, it is sometimes so difficult to remember every little detail and every single word she said without his imagination getting in the way to fill in his faded memories and change all what really happened. He wondered if she remembered their first kiss in the way that he remembered their first kiss. He wondered if she pined over the loss of him in the way he pined over the loss of her. Curious to know, he wondered how she remembered their first chance meeting on the beach. Curious to know, he wondered why she never tried contacting him in the way he fruitlessly tried contacting her. Maybe with her seeing things differently from her point of view, she could fill in some of the details that he forgot. In the way that he remembered her well enough to paint her, even now, forty years later, maybe she didn't remember him at all. Maybe, in the way that he'd never forget her, she completely forgot him. For her to make such an impression on him and for her to not even remember him, how sad is that? Tragically and pathetically it was such a waste of his life to have focused so much of his thoughts and energy on her instead of on Lorraine, his wife, and on Cynthia, his daughter. 'Emma.' With him thinking that she was a good, well-bred woman, for her to scandalously kiss him in the way she did when just meeting him, maybe she was a slut. With him thinking that she was a moral woman and a God fearing woman, for her to remove her bikini top in the way she did and have sex with him, perhaps she was nothing but a whore. Instead of her being a woman with class, maybe she had a bad reputation of sexually enticing and teasing every man she met. If judging her from the partial blowjob she gave him, the best blowjob he's ever had in his life, this definitely wasn't her first blowjob. She was certainly not a virgin. Maybe her bad, sexual behavior was a common occurrence and her downfall. Maybe the reason why her father shipped her off to Europe was because he didn't want her getting pregnant by some loser like him. Maybe her father knew her better than he did and obviously he did for him to take such swift action in forever removing her from him. Maybe her own father thought that his daughter was a slut and a whore too and it was only a matter of time before she embarrassed the family. Maybe she had already embarrassed their family many times before and seeing him having sex with her was the last straw. Maybe, at the very least, her father wanted her to have a college education and the knowledge to make better and more mature decisions. Maybe her father was having a sexual, incestuous affair with his daughter that Robert didn't know they were having. Only, with her father not there to monitor and supervise her bad, sexual behavior, and with her no longer a child, she could still be a slut and a whore in Europe as much as she could be a slut and a whore in the United States. No doubt she runs with a different circle of friends, rich friends, people of wealth, class, and distinction that if she did become pregnant, at least she'd be impregnated by someone with money. If she did get pregnant, perhaps she'd have an abortion. Perhaps she had an abortion already. Just as it sexually excited him to think of Emma as a slut and a whore, it hurt his head for him to think of her as a slut and a whore. He hated thinking of her in that derogatory way. If she was a slut and a whore for kissing him, then he was a slut and a whore for returning her kiss. If she was a slut and a whore for sucking his cock then he was a slut and a whore for eating her pussy. Besides, he'd much rather think of her as his slut and whore rather than thinking of her as someone else's slut and whore. Yet, with her, no doubt, married to someone else, she was now her husband's slut and whore and not his. An hour after he met her, she acted as if she was his slut and whore and he liked that about her. Never had he experienced a woman so sexually aggressive. Only, obviously now, but for that one moment in time, she'd never be his slut and whore again. As excited by sexually experiencing her then, he was saddened by the loss of her now. 'Emma. Where are you?' The only memory he had of her was his first time he saw her and the first time, the only time, he was with her. The best memories he had of her was not the sex but seeing her in the distance walking on the beach. She was wearing a blue bikini. The color of her bikini complimented her blue black hair. She was picking up seashells, rinsing them in the water and then putting them in her plastic bag. Then, there was that kiss, that unbelievable first kiss. When she kissed him, he was surprised by her kiss. When she kissed him, she blanked his mind. When she kissed him, in the way a woman must feel when a man kisses her for the first time, he felt vulnerable. An involuntary reaction, he felt pressured to return her kiss. Only, too surprised to react, as if he was immersed in a dream or had fallen under her spell, he didn't return her kiss until she kissed him again. When she kissed him, he felt weak in the knees. Then, when he finally returned her kiss, he was in love. Actually, with the first kiss always the most difficult kiss, glad that was out of the way, he liked the feeling of a woman taking control of him for once. He appreciated a strong woman telling him what she wanted instead of him expecting to get what he wanted by groping her while hoping to get to second base. Yet, oddly enough, bizarre even, as if she wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her, never has he been kissed with such sexual passion, especially after just having met a woman. Accustomed to receiving kisses from women who were his relatives and/or his friends, accustomed to receiving polite, first date kisses and kisses goodnight, this kiss was as if they were already lovers. She didn't just give him a peck on the lips, she kissed him. She really kissed him. She didn't just kiss him, she French kissed him. She gave him a kiss that he could never forget. She gave him a kiss that he'd remember for forty years and, no doubt, until the day he died. Yet, as if she already knew him, how could she kiss him in such an intimate way when she knew so very little about him? Even more bizarre than that, how could he languish over her for more than forty years when all he knew about her was that she was tall, beautiful, sexy, shapely, and her first name was Emma? Never has he ever met a woman who knew what she wanted as much as he knew what he wanted. As if that kiss was meant to be, it was as if they were together in a previous life. As if that kiss was never meant to be, that one kiss not only sealed his fate but also cursed him to remember her and that kiss over and again for the rest of his sexually frustrated life. 'Emma. I love you. I want you. I need you.' Yet, how dare she do that to him? Perhaps she had no idea what she did to him. He wished she had never kissed him. As if she was an evil witch who had cast a love spell over him, because of her, he could never be happy with any other woman. Because of her and that one first kiss, he was as doomed to love her as he was haunted by the memory of her. Now he wished he could kiss her just one more time to see if there still remained lover's chemistry and a sexual attraction. Only with them both forty years older, more mature and more experienced with life now than they were then, even if he was to meet her again and even she remembered him, she'd never kiss him like that again. With whatever that had happened in their lives since that first kiss had changed their definitions of lust, love, sexual excitement, and first, wet kisses. Their perceptions of what is romantic and what is foolish now are much different than they were before. The two people who had come together at a moment in time have grown more apart after a lifetime of not having one another in their lives. What he thought was once romantic then would be foolish daydreams now. Only, he still remembers their first kiss. For as long as he should live, he'd never forget that first kiss. A first kiss that was a monumental occasion to him then may be nothing more than merely a kiss to her now. Certainly there are much more important things in his life than just a kiss, but that kiss, as if a key to his heart, unlocked feelings he never felt before and had never felt since. Ruining him for all other women, that kiss made him realize what he's missing in his life. Never to be duplicated, that kiss was his special invitation and his chance for eternal happiness but he didn't take it. Not seeing the kiss for what it was, he didn't reach out and grab the opportunity. As if her kiss was liquid instead of something more tangible, he allowed her to slip through his fingers. He failed to recognize and realize all that her kiss was because of his inexperience, immaturity, and youth. Even though he knew her kiss was a special kiss and she was a special woman, he didn't know the kiss was more than just a kiss. He didn't realize that her kiss was the kiss. As opposed to the kiss of death, her first kiss, something he'd carry with him and cherish for the rest of his life, was the kiss of love. Now, he regretted not going after her. Now, he regretted not finding her and telling her that he loved her. Now, he regretted living his life without her. With a woman like her so impossibly difficult to find, not only did he find her but also he allowed her to get away. As if his car was stolen, as if he lost his job, as if he heard some bad news about his health, he couldn't feel any worse than he felt with the loss of Emma. 'Emma.' Not a rich man but comfortable in his retirement, happily content with the smaller things in life after experiencing his biggest regret, he had a good healthcare plan. Only now that he was older, finding the right prescription drug to soothe his ills, ailments, aches, and pains had edged out his need for love, lust, and sex. Yet, with an emptiness deep within him that eats away at his soul, he still thinks of her. He still remembers that first, wet kiss. He still thinks of Emma. 'Emma.' With him filled with as much happiness as he was filled with pain, Emma was now nothing more than a bittersweet memory. As if he was somehow forever attached to her for the rest of his life, as if they were already married, and destined to have children together, never would he ever forget that first, unbelievable, and unforgettable kiss. Vicariously joined to her forever in some convoluted way, even when separated and not together for so long of a time, that one kiss was his high price to pay for falling in love with her. That one kiss on that fateful day changed how he looked at all women. No other woman measured up to Emma. He never saw another woman who looked like her, talked like her, walked like her, acted like her, laughed like her, and was as fun to be around as she was. With him bouncing off the walls in his highest high with the thoughts of having her in his life, he bounced off the walls in his lowest lows with the reality of not having her in his life. Catching him at a good time when he was falling, Lorraine caught him on the rebound, picked him up out of the gutter, sobered him up, and ran all the way down the aisle and to the altar with him. A whirlwind affair, seemingly he didn't even know he was getting married until it was too late. At one point with his mind playing tricks on him, he truly believed he heard the priest say Emma instead of Lorraine. Until he turned to look at his soon-to-be bride, he truly believed he was marrying Emma instead of Lorraine. Still reeling from the loss of her, he willingly went along for the ride if nothing more than as his diversion to forget Emma. Being with Lorraine and going through the motions of being a loving husband was better than living alone with the ghost of Emma continuing to haunt him for the rest of his life. Only, whether married or now alone as a widower, he didn't know that she'd forever take up permanent residence in his head. A logical man, he realized his love for Emma was illogical and his love for Lorraine was more appropriate. With her a more comely woman than a rarely beautiful woman, on the outside and on the onset, she seemed better suited for him and more his type. He didn't have to be someone he wasn't when with her. He didn't have to be any better than he always was. He didn't have to justify being with her in the way he needed to justify being with Emma by always trying to be funnier, smarter, and better looking. Unless he had money and was a good looking as Emma was, she'd always look like his trophy wife. His entrance in a room would always be punctuated with the question mark of how someone who looked like him got someone who looked like her. Only, he was wrong to think that he could ever stop loving Emma by marrying Lorraine. Not fair to either, with his head in the clouds in thinking of Emma, he cheated himself as much as he cheated Lorraine. Alas, no matter how good he remembered their first kiss being, that one kiss on that fateful day ruined his life. Yet, still holding a flickering candle of hope, that one kiss was his calling card of reintroduction should he ever meet up with her again. Only, he never saw her again. After forty years of the same memories of her playing through his head in the way of a scratched record, the chances of him seeing her again became more doubtful with each passing year. 'Emma, where are you?' * * * * * As if she was the man and he was the woman, with her intent of having her wicked, sexual way with him and with her not taking no for answer, she pushed him up against the wall in the reception hall of her house. As if she could read his mind and as if she already knew what he was thinking, she looked him in the eye as if she was a She-Devil and had already owned his soul. She pressed the length of her nearly naked, bikini clad body up against him and gave him a sexy smile before she kissed him again with such passion that she curled his toes and hardened his cock. She was nearly as tall as he was and he liked looking straight ahead while staring in her violet eyes. As if his prick and her pussy were puzzle pieces separated at birth and by their clothes, but soon to be joined together, he could feel his pulsating cock pushing against her pussy through his jeans and through her bikini bottoms. Never had he kissed a woman as beautiful as her. Never had he felt a woman who had a better body than she did. Never had he yearned, lusted over, loved, and been haunted by any woman in the way he was haunted by Emma. 'Emma.' Never had he wanted to make love to a woman as much as he had wanted to make love to her. Never had he wanted to fuck a woman as much as he had wanted to fuck Emma. She unleashed feelings deep within him that he never knew he had. Even though he had just met her, she kissed him as if she loved him. She tapped into and awakened a sexual passion in him that lay dormant and hidden deep within him until she kissed him. She kissed him. He couldn't believe she kissed him. Now, that she was gone from his life forever, as if he was a sleeping volcano, he could no longer feel the sexual lust he had welling up from his toes to his brain. He wanted her. He wanted Emma. He never stopped loving her. He never stopped thinking about her. After thinking about her for forty, long, sexually frustrating years, he needed to stop. As if she had died, he needed to bury the unrequited feeling he had for her. He needed to stop thinking about her. He needed to grow up and finally let her go. She's gone and he'd never see her again. In the way he imagined her attending his funeral, if she should die first, he'd attend hers. Only, she could be already dead for he knows. How tragic that would be to have her finally find him after he died? How tragic that would be to finally find her after she died? Missing the life he could have had with her, how awful that would be to see her lying in her coffin? This time, as if they were on their Honeymoon, parting his lips with her tongue, she kissed him, she really kissed him. Emma French kissed him. Every time she French kissed him was as if she French kissed him for the first time. Still reeling in shock, he couldn't believe she French kissed him. Each kiss was better than the last kiss. With him never having been kissed like that before, how could she kiss him like that? What motivated her sexual passion to kiss him in the way that she'd kiss her boyfriend, her lover, or her husband instead of him, an ordinary stranger? Summer Romance Never Forgotten #04 Then, as soon as she broke off her kiss, not wasting time with formalities, introductions, or even small talk, acting more like a man than a woman, she removed her bikini bra and put his hands on her C cup breasts. She stared up at him before looking down at her naked breasts as if to see what he could see of her before returning her focused stare back to him staring at her tits. With nothing more that she could possibly say to tell him what she wanted, allowing her full lips and her naked breasts to do all of the talking, everything she needed to tell him was there in her kisses and before his horny eyes. Obviously she wanted sex. Obviously she wanted him. Obviously she wanted him to give her sex. Eager to accommodate her, only, for the first time in his life, he felt more love than he felt lust. It was more than her being beautiful, she was fun. She was sexy. She made him smile. She made him laugh. Never had he met such a complete woman as her. Never would he find another woman that he loved as much as Emma. 'Emma.' He remembered looking down at her naked breasts before fondling her breasts and fingering her erect nipples. She had beautiful tits, the best rack he's ever seen on any woman who wasn't a glossy, airbrushed photo in a men's magazine. Without words encouraging him what to do next, seemingly giving him the green light by her aggressively forward, sexual actions, she looked down at his hands feeling her tits and his fingers fingering her nipples before looking up at him. A one-of-a-kind, once-in-a-lifetime encounter, never had he met another woman like her. Kissing and kissing him as if she was his long, lost lover just home from the war, she continued kissing him. Unbelievably, every kiss was better than the last one. Never has he been kissed like this before. She blanked his mind with her kisses. When he kissed her, he heard tiny, tinkling bells and soft music playing in the background as if he was being kissed by Aphrodite, the reincarnated Goddess of love, while being serenaded by Heavenly Angels. Everything seemed so right. Everything seemed so perfect. What could possibly go wrong? With her clearing his mind of all other women, not thinking of anyone else but her, she was the one he's been longing and looking to find. * * * * * Who is this woman? Does he know her? Is she from his past from some other lifetime? What stunningly beautiful woman practically picks up a strange man, takes him home, kisses him, and then exposes her tits to him? Other than a paid prostitute, what kind of gorgeous woman willing gives a blowjob to a man she just met? What kind of shapely and sexy woman strips naked and asks a man to go down on her and give her oral sex too? Other than the women in his sexual fantasies, no woman that he's ever known has ever been as sexually aggressive with him as she was now. Is she a slut? Is she a whore? Only, he didn't like thinking of Emma as a slut or as a whore. It hurt his head to think of the women of his dreams as a slut and the woman that he already loved as a whore. Only after forty years of not hearing from her and/or seeing her, maybe that's all she was just another slut and/or a whore in the long line of sluts and whores who have passed through his life. Only, he didn't think she was a slut or a whore. She was different. She kissed him more with love than with lust. As if he was a soldier stationed overseas during World War II and met a woman in France or Italy instead of walking along a beach in Massachusetts, their love was never to be. Unable to wrap his brain around her being with someone else, he couldn't imagine her acting this way with anyone else but with him. Maybe she was just a slut for him. Maybe she was his whore. Maybe in the way that he was so very sexually attracted to her, she was so very sexually attracted to him too. Maybe just as something like this had never happened to him before, something like this had never happened to her before either. Love at first sight, maybe in the way he was instantly in love with her, she was instantly in love with him. Maybe her being in love with him was the reason why her father shipped her off to school in Europe before he could even say goodbye. Only, now, with so much time that passed without hearing from her or seeing her again, he doubted all of that. Obviously if their love was meant to be, he would have bumped into her again somewhere over the rainbow. Obviously it was all just a fluke and nothing more than just that. Instead of expecting any more than that one time he had kissing her and having sex with her, taking their brief romance for what it was, he needed to just be glad that he had the memory of her and appreciate that. Only kissing her and having sex with her made him realize what he had been missing. Once he's eaten filet mignon and/or enjoyed a piece of double chocolate, Bavarian cake, he'd never want to eat fatty hamburger or a slice of plain pound cake again. Once he's savored 25-year-old, single malt scotch or consumed a fine vintage bottle of French wine, he'd never want to have a glass of blended scotch or a bottle of Boone's Farm Apple wine again. * * * * * Normally, it would take him three dates and a weeks' pay to not even get this far with a lessor woman that took him a little more than an hour to have sex with such a beautiful woman. Normally, as if not meant to be, he'd do something wrong or say something stupid to ruin himself from getting the woman in bed but not this time. Never going much further than feeling a woman through her clothes while kissing her or occasionally feeling her bare breast, this time was different. This time was more than different. This time was special. Even though her coming onto him was an abnormal phenomenon, feeling her in his arms was normal and felt so right. Unlike all of the other times in his life when he was nervous and anxious, this time was easy. As if he had known her for years, he was relaxed. Unlike all of the other relationships in his life that he questioned, this time was special. This time he was given a memory he'd never forget. As if they had been lovers in another lifetime so long ago, everything felt so natural, normal, and everlasting. In the way that other women resisted, hesitated, were reluctant, and/or stopped him in his tracks altogether from kissing them while touching them, feeling them, and/or trying to have sex with them, nothing was forbidden and/or off limits with her. 'Oh, my God. Wow! I'll be getting lucky today,' he thought when she removed her bikini top. Playing it over and again in his mind, as if he was the only man left on Earth, he was the luckiest man on Earth. He was in Heaven. He couldn't believe she kissed him and he couldn't believe he saw her naked breasts and felt her shapely tits while fingering her nipples. She kissed him as if they were already lovers. She kissed him as if she was in love with him when he had just met her. Not done yet, she reached her hand down to feel his swollen cock through his jeans before unbuttoning, unzipping, and pushing his jeans and underwear down to his ankles. 'Oh, my God. No way. This can't be happening to me. I must be dreaming. Something like this never happens to me.' She kissed and kissed him again while taking his already stiff prick in her hand. She kissed and kissed him again while slowly stroking his already hard erection. Then, with him not even having to give her a not so subtle hint of pressing down on her shoulder, she slid her topless body down to her knees while looking up at him before taking his cock in her mouth. Teasing him while smiling up at him, she stared at him with her beautiful, violet eyes and while running her tongue over the head of his cock and stroking him a little faster. He couldn't believe this beautiful, sexy woman he met a little more than an hour ago on the beach was giving him a blowjob. A skilled cocksucker, without a doubt, this blowjob was not her first and definitely wouldn't be her last. She bobbed her head back in forth and side to side in the way of an animated, interactive video. While sucking his cock, she made all of those cock sucking slurping sounds that men love to hear to prove that the woman is enjoying sucking their prick as much as they're enjoying having their prick sucked. A beautiful seductress, without a doubt, she was the sexiest woman he had ever met. Without a doubt, she was giving him the best blowjob he had ever received. Not nearly done yet, she stood and kissed him again. Wishing he could have ejaculated his cum in her mouth but glad that he hadn't he'd rather save his stamina to make love to her before fucking her. Then, later, after he gave her an orgasm from licking her pussy, maybe she'd blow him again. He could taste himself on her. Then, showing him that she wanted more as much as he wanted more, she pulled him by his hand to bring him in her bedroom. He stopped to pull up, zip, and button his jeans. He didn't know why he did that when obviously he'll be getting naked soon anyway but, as if he was a toddler running to the bathroom, he felt foolish walking with his pants and underwear bunched around his ankles. 'Definitely, he was getting lucky today,' he thought. To be continued... Please Vote. Please give me the support of your vote. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #05 Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote. All characters in this story are over the age of 18-years-old Summer Romance Never Forgotten, #5 We all have lost a love one and think about what may have been with that person instead of being married to the one we married. As if it all happened yesterday instead of forty years ago, Robert remembered having sex with Emma. Emma took Robert by the hand and led him down the hallway to her bedroom. As did the other four bedrooms in the house, she had an attached bathroom, her own master suite. Her bedroom looked like something he'd see in a movie or something he'd see in an Architectural Digest magazine. Her bedroom looked like what he imagined a rich, spoiled girl would have as her dream bedroom. With all of her furniture hardwood, maple and cherry, instead of pressed, particle board, everything looked new and expensive. She had a huge attached bathroom that led into an oversized walk-in closet that had a drawered counter in the middle of the room. She had more clothes than he's seen in the women's section of a department store. Obviously, for her to afford this or rather for her father to afford to spoil her, they were rich. He remembered being surprised by the car she drove. Seemingly with her wanting for nothing and with her driving a brand new 1975, generation II Mustang, she was rich. He remembered never liking the second generation Mustang but the car she drove was hot. It was a black, anemic Cobra with gold graphics. It was pretty car but with only a 130 horsepower, 302 engine, it was no supercar. Instead of her room being messy, cluttered, and disorganized, in the way that his bedroom always was, her bedroom was tidy, neat, and organized with everything in its place. Perhaps they had a housekeeper. Perhaps, judging her by her deep, dark tan, she lived on the beach and was never home to mess up her room. For sure, if he lived this close to the beach, he'd be at the beach every day until it was too cold to go. Even in the cold, as long as it wasn't unbearably windy, he'd walk or run the beach every day. A reflection of her, her bedroom was so feminine looking with everything pink, white, soft, and frilly. Yet, the opposite of that image, her bedroom wasn't the image that she portrayed. She wasn't soft or frilly. She was firm and certainly not plain. A strong woman who knew what she wanted, no shrinking violet, she was no innocent, young woman. She had a big brain behind those eyes. Yet, he saw something more than just her beauty. He saw her pain. He remembered she had a big dollhouse on a table in the far corner of the room and a doll in a baby carriage. She had dolls displayed all around the room. With her having so many dolls in her room, in the way he had a collection of model cars in his room, he felt as if he was in a little girl's room. With her dolls sending a mixed message, he wondered how old she was. He tried to discern the answer to his question without having to ask her by looking from her to look at her dolls. Then, when she unbuckled, unzipped, and unbuttoned his jeans again, she returned him back to sexual reality. A woman he had just met on the beach, he was in her house and in her bedroom and about to have sex with her. Too good to be true, what's wrong with this picture? He pulled away from her to zip, button, and buckle his pants. He pulled away from her to stare in her violet eyes. Before they continued, he needed to know how old or how young she was. Yet, unable to look away from her long enough to formulate his question, her eyes mesmerized him and her stare hypnotized him. Never had he met a woman as beautiful as she was. Wondering again how old she was or actually how young she was, when judging her by her childhood room, she may be younger than she looked and younger than he thought she was. When judging her by her aggressive sexual actions of a mature woman who obviously was no virgin, she was definitely no child. When judging her solely by her beautiful face, she looked so young and so innocent. Yet, when judging her by her shapely, womanly body, she looked so dangerous, too dangerous for him to fall in love with her, especially if she was a minor. Especially if she was a minor and not an adult, then she was definitely much too dangerous for him. In a quandary wondering how old she was, he couldn't help but wonder if she was a woman or a child? As if trying to learn her age by her beautiful face or by her topless body, studying her as if he was an artist and she was his model, he looked at her more closely. Only distracted by her looks and blinded by her beauty and sexuality, he couldn't see her in the way he needed to see her to ascertain her age. To him, she was just Emma, a beautiful, sexy, dream woman he had just met on the beach. She was a woman, of course, or was she? He was puzzled by the absurdity that she may be much younger than he suspected her to be. Oh, my God. What if she's not over 18-years-old? Suddenly he was sick to his stomach. Suddenly he felt as if he was a pedophile robbing the cradle. What if she's a teenager, a mere child, in a woman's body? Oh, my God, having already had sex with her and about to have more sex with her, what if she's a minor? With her age the only fly in the ointment, this can't be happening. Too good to be true, he knew there had to be something wrong. Women don't approach him. Women don't seduce him. Women don't kiss him first, strip off their clothes, and give him oral sex until he dates them, wines them, dines them, and spends money on them for months. 'Fuck me. I'm fucked. I'm totally fucked. What if she's a minor? What do I do now?' Unable to leave her, as if she was a wicked, raven haired witch who had cast an evil spell on him, he didn't know if he should flee or stay. Once again, with him feeling as if she was the man and he was the woman, not taking no for an answer, not that he would ever say no to her kissing him, she kissed him again. With that one, long, wet kiss sealing his fate, she erased all speculation of her age from his mind. Now it didn't matter how old she was. He didn't care how old she was. He was falling in love with her. Yet, what was he even thinking doubting her age? No minor child could kiss him like this. What was he even thinking dare questioning her age? No minor child would have a body like that. Definitely, without a doubt, she was over the age of 18-years-old. As she did with her first kiss, she did with all of her kisses; she blanked his mind. He couldn't think of anything else other than her full, red lips and her topless, shapely body pressed against him while she kissed and kissed him. Then, as if she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her, not even giving him the time to question her age, she kissed him again, again, and again. She made out with him as if she was the horny man and he was the vulnerable woman. She made out with him in the way he wanted to make out with her when they were walking the beach together. He couldn't believe Emma, this beautiful, sexy woman, just turned to him and kissed him in the way that he should have turned to her and kissed her. He couldn't believe Emma, this beautiful, sexy woman, was taking sexual liberties with him in the way that he should be sexually taking advantage of her. Already falling in love with her, it was love at first sight when he saw her walking along the beach. Her puppet on a string, he was hers for the taking. Temporarily forgetting his question about her age, he really didn't care how old she was. Anyone who could kiss like this and had a body like that couldn't be a child. Yet, with her a dangerous five alarm fire, he could understand how she'd be trouble for any man at any age. He could understand how she'd wrap any man around her finger by sexually teasing him, erotically enticing him, and giving him sex. * * * * * Never had a woman kissed him first before. Especially when first meeting her, never had a woman kissed him with as much sexual passion as he kissed her. As if she was the horny one and the sexually aggressive one, never had a woman continued kissing and kissing him in the way that he loved kissing and kissing her. He had always been the one to make the first clumsy, sexual move. He had always been the one rejected for moving too fast or going too slow. Yet, not the case with Emma, with him just going along for the ride, she was the aggressive one and he was the passive one. With her having complete control of his lips and the rest of him, he was her bitch. He remembered her kissing him as if she sexually wanted him as much as he had sexually wanted her. Remembering it all as if their first kiss happened yesterday, as soon as they entered her house, she pushed him up against her reception hall wall and kissed him. Then, almost immediately after she kissed him, French kissed him, she removed her bikini bra without him even having to touch her, feel her, encourage her, and/or coerce her to strip topless. So shapely and so firm, she had breasts that every plastic surgeon should strive to copy when giving women breast implants. Thinking back on it now, he couldn't believe the first time he saw her tits. Seemingly she wanted to show him her tits as much as he wanted to see her tits. No women had ever willingly showed him her breasts. No woman had ever sexually seduced him in the way that Emma sexually seduced him then. Trying to recall every detail and every word, his memory wasn't what it used to be. Even though he swore he'd never forget her, how tragic would it be to forget the woman he loved for four decades? Always able to remember her, he could never forget her. Always there in his mind, she haunted him. Seemingly and surprisingly, she acted just as horny as he was. Seemingly and surprisingly, she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her. Only, as if he was dreaming their first kiss and their first sexual encounter, he was baffled why someone who looked like her would want someone who looked like him. He was just as ordinary as she was extraordinary. A once in a lifetime event, something that never happens to him, surely this was something that only happens in the movies or in a romance novel. Then, shocking him even more, she reached her horny hand down and felt his hardening erection through his jeans before he even dared feel her. No woman has ever felt him before he felt the woman. Melting him and with him unable to resist her to even ask her to give him proof of her age, no woman has ever given him as much sexual pleasure with just her kiss. Suddenly hearing banjo music in the background and filled with thoughts of running away with her to West Virginia, Tennessee, or Kentucky, he just hoped to God that she wasn't a minor. He hoped to God that she was at least 18-years-old. Yet, not stopping there and not taking no for an answer, she gave him a determined, sexual look while unbuckling, unbuttoning, and unzipping his jeans again. Unable to wrap his head around all that was happening so soon after having just met her, he couldn't believe she was undressing him in the way that he should have been undressing her. Yet, with her wearing only her bikini bottoms, she was nearly already naked anyway. Groping him in the way he was accustomed to groping women, she reached her seemingly horny hand down his opened pants to feel his erection through his underwear before sticking her hand inside of his briefs. 'Oh, my God,' he remembered thinking to himself while gulping down his sexual excitement as soon as she touched his erect cock. In all of the years remembering her and thinking about her, he masturbated the most over this one day more than he masturbated over any day and any other woman. While stroking his cock, he replayed the events of that day for years. He masturbated over her first kiss. He masturbated as much over her removing her bikini bra as he did of her sliding down to her knees to suck him. The only thing that kept the memory of her alive in his mind's eye was masturbating over the memory of her. In the way he couldn't wait to remove her bikini bottom and finger and lick her pussy, he couldn't believe she undid his pants and was feeling his erection through his underwear. Then, when she stuck her hand inside of his underwear to take him in her soft hand, he was in Heaven. As soon as she took his cock in her hand, she fondled the head of his cock with her sexually experienced fingertips. Then, pushing down his pants and underwear, she stared down at his erect prick while slowly and lovingly stroking him. He remembered staring down at her hand before staring up at her. An image he'd never forget, he couldn't believe she was holding his erect prick in her hand. He couldn't believe she was fondling his cock before stroking his cock. Then, while holding his prick in her hand as if she was holding her dildo, she continued kissing him. He returned her kisses while feeling her breasts and fingering her nipples. Making him bigger and harder with her hand, she stroked him a little faster before kneeling to take his cock in her mouth. Definitely, his cock wasn't the first cock that she held in her hot, horny hand. A dream come true, he couldn't believe she was going to suck him. Something that not many women did back then in the way that most women do today, especially without him coercing her and especially during a first date, if that's what this even was, he couldn't believe she was going to blow him. He remembered he gasped like a little girl the first time he felt her wrap her soft, long fingers around his hard prick. Even when he stared down at the top of her beautiful head, he couldn't believe that she was kneeling before him with his cock in her hand while staring at his erection and ready to take him in her mouth. Melting him with her eyes, she looked up at him while stroking him. Then, kissing his stiff prick and licking his stiff prick, she teased him with her hand, mouth, and tongue while still staring up at him. He couldn't believe this beautiful woman was going to suck him. As if he had dreamt her and sexually fantasized her, he never could have come up with a more beautiful and sexier woman than her. As if he had dreamt it and sexually fantasized it, he never could have come up with a better sexual scenario than this. As if he had pieced together and created a woman from all the sexy and beautiful women he knew from celebrities, movie stars, and models, he couldn't create anyone more beautiful and sexier than Emma. With this his one chance in a lifetime, she was his one-of-a-kind woman kissing him before blowing him. 'Emma.' * * * * * Never had he been kissed by a woman as young but once her lips touched his, it didn't matter how old or how young she was. She kissed him as if she was an old soul and as if she had already kissed him thousands of times before. Only, not wanting to go to jail, she looked so young, too young for a 25-year-old man to be tempted by jailbait and to be charged with statutory rape. He hoped to God that she was at least 18-years-old. He remembered that he couldn't stop himself from having the thought of why someone like her would fall for someone like him? Suddenly he panicked. Maybe that's why she's acting so sexually aggressive. Maybe she's a 17-year-old virgin or younger, an innocent woman who doesn't want to be a virgin any more. Maybe she's a 17-year-old virgin who wants to get laid so that she can brag to her high school friends that she's no longer a virgin. As if she's his teacher, maybe she's just a kid who has a thing for her father and who wants to have sex with an older man. He remembered suddenly being filled with panic. His fright was big enough to overrule his sexual lust for her. Now instead of his sexual lust burning a hole inside of him, his burning question was how the Hell old is she? With this his last chance to protect himself, he had to ask her the question. Before it was too late, before he passed the point of no return, and before she took him in her mouth and started sucking him, he had to stop what she was sexually doing to him to ask her age. "Forgive me, Emma," he said with her still on her knees and looking up at him. "I apologize in advance for embarrassing you but I need to know before we continue," he said avoiding looking at her seductive eyes and avoiding looking at her naked breasts. She continued stroking his erect prick while looking up at him with happiness. While kissing and licking his erect prick, she looked up at him with love while he looked at her with sexual excitement and with lust. Suddenly fear for himself overtook his sexual lust for her again. With her ready to take him in her mouth, she stopped to stare up at him. "Yes, what is it Robert?" As if looking at her for the last time, he feared to learn the answer to his question. If she was a minor, he'd have to leave. If she was a minor, he could never see her again, at least until she's older. Playing with fire in having sex with her if she was a minor, whether she consented or not, he'd be found guilty. He didn't want to go to jail. "I know a man should never ask a woman her age or her weight, especially at a time like this," he said unable to help himself from looking down at her naked breasts. As if looking at them for the last time, he stared at her big tits before looking up at her beautiful face to make eye contact with her engaging violet eyes. "Yet, in this case, I hope you'll make an exception," he said staring at her as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world and to him she was. "I need to know before we continue." 'What's wrong with this picture? Certainly, something was not right he said to himself while gulping down his trepidation. He hoped to God that she wasn't an underage minor. He hoped to God that she was over 18-years-old. She must be over 18-years-old. There's no way anyone younger than 18-years-old could kiss him like that. There's no way any woman under the age of 18-years-old could have the womanly body that she has.' "Yes?" Obviously with him interrupting her blowing him, she seemed impatient now. The one thing he didn't want was her thinking that he was rejecting her. How could he possibly reject someone who looks like her? The only way he could reject her is if she was a minor. "What is it?" Yet, she looked at him as if she already knew what he was going to ask her. "How old are you?" She looked at him and gave him that million dollar smile that melted his heart, hardened his cock, and that would make him do anything she'd ask of him, even murder someone. With her not seeming troubled by his question, she gave him that smile that assured him that she was over eighteen-years-old. Never had he met anyone like her. Then, as if she had been asked this question a hundred times before, she rolled her eyes and sighed before giving him another sexy smile. "I'm nineteen," she said. 'She's nineteen! Praise the Lord. Thank God,' he thought to himself. 'Hallelujah. She's nineteen. She's of legal age. He's off the hook. He's free to have sex with her. Thank you, Jesus.' Now he can continue kissing her and having sex with her without waiting for the police to arrest him, handcuff him, and drag him to jail. Yet, instead of being angry with him for asking her age, she seemed flattered that he thought that she was younger. No matter what age he thought she was, she was definitely young and much younger than any woman he's ever dated in the past. She was 19-years-old. If anyone at the office told him that he'd be interested in a 19-year-old woman who was fresh out of high school and on her way to her first year of college, he would have called them crazy. Yet, here he was a 25-year-old man in love with a nineteen-year-old woman. Volunteering her identity, she offered him further proof of her age to set his mind at ease. She reached in her wallet that she kept in the plastic bag, along with her house key, lip gloss, sunscreen, and with her rinsed seashells that she had picked up while walking along the beach. She pulled out her driver's license and handed it to him. Her name was Emma Donna Marina and he wondered if her friends called her Madonna for short. Even if she wasn't the mother of Jesus and long before Madonna became famous for her singing and her songs, if only by Emma's beauty and sexy body, she'd be worthy of such a famous name. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #05 'Emma. Madonna. Emma Donna Marina.' She had a musical quality to her name that suddenly inspired him to write her a song. He looked at her driver's license and read it silently while noticing how pretty she looked in her driver's license picture. No one looks good in the photo they take at the motor vehicle registry but she did. Yet, she looked as beautiful in her driving license photo as she did standing before him now. Only, it was a shame that the DMV couldn't have taken a photo of her topless. If they had photographed her tits, every police officer in the state would pull her over just to ask for her driver's license and to see her topless photo. "Nineteen? You're nineteen-years-old? I can't believe you're nineteen. You look so young," said Robert. "After looking at you and seeing you up close, I was thinking that you may be fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen the max," he said with a nervous laugh while hoping he wasn't insulting her. As if she was of legal age to buy her first drink at a bar, which of course, she wasn't, she gave him a big smile. Now that he thought of it, it doesn't seem right that she could suck and fuck an adult man but she couldn't legally drink alcohol. She could vote, sign a contract, apply for a credit card, buy a car, get married, and even join the military at 18-years-old, but she couldn't legally have a drink in Massachusetts until she had turned 21-years-old. He wondered who made that law. Only, he didn't have to get Emma drunk for her to want to have sex with him. "Don't worry, I'm of legal age to have sex," she said with a sexy laugh and an even sexier look and as if reading his mind. 'She's of legal age to have sex. Thank God she's of legal age for sex.' Her words echoed in his head. She's of legal age to have sex. With her verbally vocalizing the elephant in the room, no doubt about it, they'd be having sex again soon. With her not a minor but an adult, she was free to do whatever she'd like him to do to her in the way she was free to do whatever she'd like to do with him. * * * * * This time, skipping the memory of eating her, he recalled the memory of making love to her before recalling the memory of fucking her. Then, consuming him with as much panic now, as it did forty years ago, he remembered he didn't have a condom and hoped that she had one. As if asking to drive her new car, he felt odd asking her to supply him with a condom, especially when he was the older, more mature man and she was the younger, more innocent woman, or so he enjoyed imagining she was. Hoping she did have a condom, he hoped her not having a condom wasn't a deal breaker. Even if she didn't have a condom, he'd still have sex with her, if only she'd allow him. With there being no downside, if he got someone who looked like her pregnant, he'd marry her. The happiest man in the world, he'd love to have a wife who looked like her. He'd love to have a son who looked like them or a daughter who looked like her. Hoping she didn't have a condom while hoping it didn't matter to her if he rode her bareback and ejaculated his cum inside of her, he swallowed his pride to ask her his question. "Do you have a condom?" She gave him a self-assured smile. "Don't worry," she said melting him with her eyes. "You won't need a condom," she said in a sexual voice that promised him that she'd give him the best sex he'd ever have in his life. "I'm on the pill," she said with pride. If she was his daughter and he was her father, he'd never allow her out of his sight without being on birth control pills and having a pocketbook full of condoms, mace, and a handgun. If she was his daughter and he was her father, he'd never allow her to associate with the likes of him. A time before billionaires were as plentiful as millionaires, if she was his daughter, as soon as she finished college, he'd be busy promising her hand in marriage to some multi-millionaire. Yet, a chance meeting on the beach, he was glad that he summoned the courage to approach her. He was shocked when she accepted his pass and ran the length of the field to score a touchdown with their game ball. 'Of course, she's on the pill,' he thought to himself. 'Someone who looks like her needs all the protection she can get from someone who looks like me.' He always thought that the birth control pill was a magic pill. He didn't know there were different doses of birth control with the lesser dosages putting women at a higher risk to get pregnant. In the way that men now opt for the highest dose of Viagra, one would think that if a woman didn't want to get pregnant, she'd take the highest dose of birth control. Yet, not that easy, depending on the woman and on the side effects, no doubt, it was up to the doctor to match the dosage to the woman. Still, with him ignorant of such things, he always thought that a woman couldn't get pregnant when on the pill. Had he known that a woman could still become pregnant while on the pill, especially if she missed a dose or took it at various times of the day instead of at the same times, he would have run out to buy condoms. Only who in the right mind would leave her at a time like this when they were both naked and he was as hard as she was wet? Who in their right mind would worry about getting this sexy beauty pregnant? If he impregnated her with child, he'd be passing out cigars while expecting her father to give her a cushy position with his real estate company. He imagined them having to get married. He imagined them having a shotgun wedding with him holding the shotgun over her father, instead of her father holding a shotgun over him. He didn't even have to meet her father to know that her father would never approve of him marrying his daughter. He was not only too old for her but also he didn't come from a good family, a family of money, influence, and/or power. He was just an average guy and a regular Joe. If he accidentally impregnated her, there would be no way that her father would allow her to ruin their gene pool by her having his baby. * * * * * In the way she pushed him against the reception hall wall to kiss him earlier, he recalled how she had pulled him up to her after he had given her an orgasm from licking and fingering her. Such a long time ago, a whole lifetime of memories ago, he remembered licking and fingering her beautiful pussy before making love to her and before fucking her. With her staying true to her sexually aggressive nature, instead of allowing him mount her, she mounted him. The first time being mounted by a woman, it was always the other way around with him asserting himself and climbing on the woman to make love to her before fucking her. Seemingly there were lots of first times with her. The first time a woman kissed him before he kissed her was a first with her. The first time a woman touched and felt him before he touched and felt her was another first with her. The first time a woman stripped herself topless without him having to pressure her and coerce her to show him her tits was yet another first with her. The first time a woman took his cock in her mouth without him having to give her a not so subtle sign of pushing down on her shoulder with a heavy hand and putting a gentle hand behind her head was a big first with her too. He didn't mind relinquishing his control over her, not that he could ever control someone like her. An independent woman who obviously knew what she wanted before he did, indeed, true to the model of her car, she was a wild Mustang. Truth be told, enjoying being subservient to her, he enjoyed being her submissive bitch. He enjoyed having the woman put all of the sexual moves on him in the way he always felt pressured to put the sexual moves on women. Most times, women rejected him but not this time with Emma. She welcomed whatever he wanted to do to her naked body. He remembered her sitting upright on him as if she was riding a horse bareback or riding a mechanical bull naked at Billy Bob's Bar and Barbeque. In the way that he had a nervous look on his face that all of this was nothing more than a dream, she had a sexually excited look on her face. As if they were boyfriend and girlfriend and had known one another longer than an hour, she reached down between her legs to take his cock in her hand and position it by her pussy. Overwhelmed and unable to wrap his head around all that has happened in such a short time, he couldn't believe he was having sexual intercourse with Emma. With her doing all of the work, as soon as his prick was in place, she humped him. As if his cock was a wire plugged into an electrical outlet, as soon as he slid inside of her, electrified, he felt connected to her. She was so wet that, after just a few, slow humps, the head of his erection easily slid inside of her. Humping her more deliberately, she returned his humps with hers. Humping him harder, she humped him faster until the entire length of his cock was buried in her cunt. With her nipples the focal point of his stare and the motion of her areolas hypnotizing him, he watched her shapely breasts bounce up and down and side to side. Being that breasts were his favorite part of a woman's body, he reached his horny hands up to harness her bouncing boobs while fingering her nipples before sitting to an upright position to suck her tits. He remembered her being so warm and so wet and so very sexually aggressive. Yet, as if this was her first time having sex, and assuredly it wasn't, her wet pussy was so tight, no doubt, attributed to the fact that she was so young and had not yet had a baby. His cock fit her pussy as if he was wearing a custom, velvet glove expressly fashioned for his cock. As soon as he filled her with the length, width, and girth of him, she closed her eyes and tilted back her head to go someplace deep inside of her. Darker and shinier than the hair of a raven, he remembered thinking that her beautiful blue, black hair was so very long when she tilted her head that far back like that. Then, as if he had stuck her with a pin, she jerked forward and popped open her violet eyes to melt his soul with her stare. The motion of her leaning towards him tossed her hair forward. With her long, lush hair covering her naked breasts, she looked like a brunette version of Lady Godiva. As if parting the curtains of a dressing room, he moved her hair out of the way and behind her shoulders with his hands so that he could see her tits, feel her tits, and finger her nipples. She had such beautiful breasts. Then, with a quick, practiced move of her beautiful head, as if she was a wild mustang flicking back its mane, she tossed back her hair. Something that his deceased wife, Lorraine, couldn't do with her short, mousy brown hair, he loved how women with long hair could do that. As if she was the conductor of an orchestra of hair, every time she did that, she commanded his attention. As if slowly crossing her legs to quickly flash her white panties when sitting down or eating a banana seductively, it was so sexy to watch a woman toss her hair back with a quick flick of her pretty head. Just as it was so sexy to watch her toss back her hair while she sat on him while fucking him, it was so sexy to watch a woman toss back her hair in preparation of blowing him. Forcing his prick deeper inside of her, as far as his hard cock would go, in her effort to make him go even deeper, she wiggled her tight ass while riding him. Having already answered his burning question before, she was definitely no virgin. Bouncing and gyrating her sexy hips on him, she slowly humped him while he slowly humped her. Twisting and turning, as if taking the definition of screwing literally, she moved her shapely body slowly up and down and side to side. As if he was watching an interactive sex video, he remembered that he loved watching her big breasts bouncing and swaying as if they were making love to him too. He reached his horny hands to harness them, feel them, and fondle them while fingering her erect nipples. Then, when she leaned down to kiss him, French kissing him again, he rolled her over to take charge of their lovemaking. Filled with sexual desire for her, his cock was so hard, the hardest it's ever been. Wanting to do more than just make love to her, he wanted to fuck her, really fuck her. He wanted to pound her pussy in her mattress in the way that he had never pounded any woman's pussy before. Wanting to return her sexual passion, he wanted to show her the sexual passion that he had for her. Humping her harder and humping her faster, he fucked Emma silly. Just when she was about to cum, determined to make her cum, he held back so that he didn't cum first. The last thing he wanted to do was to sexually disappoint her. The last thing he wanted to do was to not give her an orgasm. Not wanting her to think of him as a dud in bed, he needed to sexually satisfy her. With her returning his humps, hump for hump, he continued humping her harder and humping her faster. "Daddy!" * * * * * 'Daddy? Wow,' he thought. 'She called him Daddy. That's so kinky. That's so hot. Having never been called Daddy by a woman before, maybe he should call her Mommy.' Only, she was unlike any mother he's ever known. It wasn't until she pushed him off of her and extricated her naked body from beneath him that he realized her father had been standing in the room behind them. With both of them humping and fucking, they never heard him enter her bedroom. Her father stared at his naked daughter as if he wanted to make love to her before her father stared at him as if he wanted to kill him. Glad that her father didn't have a gun, he may have shot him for having sex with his daughter. Thinking back on that now but not occurring to him then, he wondered if her father had sexually lusted over his daughter in the way that he sexually lusted over her. Thinking back on that now but not occurring to him then, he wondered if her father had been sexually intimate with his daughter in the way the way that he was sexually intimate with her then. Certainly, perhaps with her feeling the need to please her father, even sexually, her father's incestuous lust for Emma would explain a lot. Certainly, incestuous sex and/or incestuous thoughts would explain why her father stood there staring at them and watching them having sex without making his presence known. Certainly, incestuous sex and/or incestuous thoughts would explain why her father stared at his daughter's naked body. Certainly, incestuous sex and/or incestuous thoughts would explain why her father barred him from ever seeing her again. Perhaps he was jealous. Definitely, he was enraged. "Emma," finally said her father staring at his naked daughter. He stared at her while she stared at him. Not feeling as comfortable showing her father his naked body as she seemingly was, he quickly got dressed. "I'm sorry Daddy," she said. Not cowering or hiding her naked body from him, she didn't even cover her nudity from him with her pillow, her sheet, her hands or her forearms. Obviously this wasn't the first time her father had seen her naked. A telling sign, what 19-year-old woman wouldn't be quick to hide her naked body from her father? A telling sign, not assuming it then that they were incestuously intimate, he considered that thought now. "What the Hell are you doing?" Her father looked from her to look at him. "And who the Hell is this?" Choosing his words carefully, seemingly he was so calm. Yet, Robert could tell that her father was seething inside. Only, at the time, he didn't even think that the reason why her father was so angry may be because he was in forbidden love with Emma too. With her mother dead and her living with her father, there's no telling what goes on behind closed, bedroom doors. Thinking back on it now, with him suddenly feeling like an interloper, they were obviously sexually and incestuously intimate. Thinking back on it now, trying to explain and understand Emma's aggressive, sexual behavior, other than her having incestuous sex with her father, perhaps he was the first man she's made love to and loved. * * * * * If only he knew then what he knows now, he would have been more forceful in claiming Emma as his woman. Only, her father had money, power, and influence. He had the means to keep him away from his daughter. All he had was the love for a woman who would never love him. Obviously with sex one thing, love was something else. Men like him never married women like her. If only he was the rich man and she was the poor woman, more acceptable for a beautiful, sexy woman to marry a man beneath her, perhaps he would have lived happily ever after. Only, there was no happiness for him longing over and lusting over a woman he'd never have. With him having only the memory of her, she was gone, gone forever. The beginning of the end, when her father caught them having sex, he threw him out of his house. He not only forbade him from seeing her again but also he forbade her from seeing him again. Who knows what control her father had over her for her never too contact him? Obviously with his money and her pampered lifestyle of living her carefree life of walking along the beach every day, he exerted much emotional, financial, and possibly even sexual control over her. Robert tried calling her but she never answered his calls. She may not have even been home. Her father may have shipped her off to Europe already. He even tried going there to talk to her father. Knowing he was home by his luxury car parked in the driveway, he wouldn't even open the door. He even tried going to his place of business but without him having an appointment, he couldn't even get passed the receptionist for him to see her father to plead his case. Besides, if even that was the case and he suspected that it was, there was nothing that he could say or do to convince her father to let go of the imagined incestuous hold he had over his daughter. Yet, whether he wanted to see her and he most certainly did, obviously she didn't want to see him. As far as he knew, she never tried getting in touch with him. Over before it even started, ended before it even began, he was lucky to have the memories of her that he had. 'Emma.' * * * * * Those memories of Emma played over and again through his mind. Emma, Emma, Emma, time and again, he doodled her name thousands of times, tens of thousands of times. Haunting him and taking hold of his dreams and sexual fantasies, forty lonely and sexually frustrating years later, he wondered what she looked like now. As any aging beauty queen or supermodel still does, he imagined she was just as beautiful now as she was back then. He wondered where she was now. As he always wondered, he wondered if she was married with children. With him never forgetting her even when faithfully married to Lorraine, he wondered if she thought of him in the way that he always thought of her. Yet, even though he obviously loved Lorraine, he never loved another woman in the way he loved Emma. Maybe nothing more than a dream, a figment of his aging imagination, and a memory he's lucky to even still have, he wondered if she remembered their first kiss in the way that he'd never forget their first kiss. He wondered if she was happy or was just as miserable as he was. He wondered if she ever tried to find him in the way that he spent time trying to find her by looking for her online with the invention of the Internet, Facebook, and all of social media. He wondered if she regretted not being with him, marrying him, and having children with him. He wondered if she was still even alive. Never forgetting her, he always wondered about her. Always thinking about her, he could never stop thinking about her. Then, a thought that hurt his soul, wondering again if she even remembered him, maybe she forgot him. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #05 Right after they met on a beach outside of Boston, that first kiss was the favorite part of Robert's memory of Emma. If it wasn't enough that she kissed him, removed her bikini top, felt him through his jeans, and sucked him, she asked him to reciprocate his sexual pleasure and give her oral sex too. Even though it was interrupted by her father, he'd never forget making love to her before fucking her. "Lick me Robert," she said in a voice that sounded so softly sweet and feminine. Had he not heard her ask him to lick her, he never would have thought that someone who looked like her would ask someone who looked like him to give her oral sex. "I want to feel your fingers and your tongue inside of me," said Emma as if asking him for a massage instead of asking him for cunnilingus. With Robert happy to oblige, he watched her remove her bikini bottoms. Not embarrassed or ashamed, she showed him her naked body as if she was a nude model and he was a photographer. With him never thinking that a woman's body could be so artistically pleasing and so aesthetically beautiful, in hindsight, he wished he had a camera. If he had a camera, he wondered if she would have allowed him to take a photo of her naked. Now that he saw her naked and saw her naked pussy and her round, firm, naked ass, he couldn't believe he even harbored the thought of her being a man. She was shaved and her pussy was seemingly as smooth as a baby's ass. He remembered quivering with the sexual anticipation of touching her and feeling her while holding her and kissing her. He couldn't wait to finger her. He couldn't wait to lick her. He couldn't wait to taste her. He couldn't wait to make love to her and to fuck her. He couldn't wait to give her as much sexual pleasure as she had given him with her kisses, by allowing him to feel her naked breasts, and by briefly blowing him. He wondered what she sounded like having an orgasm. He couldn't wait to hear her having an orgasm. Over and again, the memory of her and of that one fateful, sexual day played through his mind. Over and again, he remembered every sight and every sound of that day as if it all happened yesterday. Sometimes, he remembered her as if she was there standing in front of him. Sometimes she was just a fuzzy, faded memory. Remembering her in her blue bikini, topless, and/or naked, should he see her fully dressed, he wondered if he'd even recognize her. Yet, no matter what she was wearing or wasn't wearing, he'd always recognize someone who was so unforgettable. The memory of her didn't start fading until he had Lorraine in his life. The memory of her didn't start fading until years after he met her on the beach and made love to her in her bedroom. The memory of her didn't start fading until he had to confront the truth that he'd never see her again. He'd never touch her, hold her, kiss her and/or make love to her again. A bitter pill to swallow, not fair and not right, why would God allow her in his life and then take her away? To be continued... Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #06 Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote. There are no minor characters in this story. All characters are over the age of 18-years-old. * Looking into the past, Robert finds the future. He finally finds Emma. Having just met her on the beach, he was tongue-tied by her beauty. Even with her just wearing her blue bikini and a pair of flip flops, she looked like she came from money. In the way she carried herself, he could tell that she was rich. Someone who looked like her had to be rich. Not wanting her to leave, not ever wanting her to leave, and wanting this day to last forever, he wanted to engage her in small talk to learn more about her. Who was she? What was her name? Where does she live? Does she have a boyfriend? Only, afraid to approach her, and with her showing so much of her body in that sexy bikini, he didn't want him thinking he was a pervert. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, he wasn't sure what to say to someone who looked like her. He didn't want her to brush him off as just another weirdo on the beach. 'Don't stare at her tits when talking to her,' he said to himself. 'Don't stare at her ass when she bends to pick up a seashell,' he reminded himself. 'Just smile and stare at her face and look in her eyes instead of staring at the impressions her nipples make in her bikini bra and the camel toe her pussy slit and her ass crack makes in her bikini bottom.' Getting past the first awkward and uncomfortable moments, she seemed friendly enough, more than friendly enough. Actually, she seemed to like him as much as he liked her. When he walked with her, he filled the lulls in conversation and the sudden silences by imagining she was his girlfriend. Reminiscent of the band, as if he was one of the Beatles, he wanted to hold her hand. He wished he could hold her hand to show everyone on the beach that she belonged to him. Yet, someone who looked like her would never belong to someone who looked like him. When he walked with her, with her obviously out of his league, he wished there was a book, How to Talk to a Beautiful Woman, that he could buy and read. Only, too late now, here he was walking along the beach with her, a beautiful woman. After asking her name and making some small talk about what a beautiful day it was, about the beach, the sky, the water, and her collecting seashells, not knowing how else to keep her talking he asked the obvious question. "What does your father do?" With him figuring she was fresh out of high school or a college coed, he didn't think she had a job. He didn't think someone who looked like her would ever be working at Wal-Mart, McDonalds, Burger King, or at the mall. He just hoped she'd think him interesting enough to answer his questions without her thinking that he was prying in her private life too soon. He just hoped she'd find him interesting enough to continue walking with him while talking to him. If only for a few minutes, he was enjoying the company of walking beside a beautiful woman. If only for a few minutes, he was enjoying the company of her. If only for a few minutes, he imagined she was his woman. If only for a few minutes longer, he needed to drink all of her in so that he could take the memory of her home with him tonight. Knowing her memory would be all that he had left of her, he wanted to make the most of their brief time together. "He's in real estate development, Marina properties," she said matter of fact and without a shred of pride as if he was a day laborer. "He buys properties, develops properties, and sells properties." She turned from him to look behind her. Then she pointed to the homes that lined Revere Beach in the distance. In the way she looked and in the way she carried herself, she looked at him as if she was a princess. As beautiful as Snow White, unfortunately for them both, he was no Prince Charming. "Oh, wow," said Robert showing more interest than she did and now knowing that she was definitely out of his league. He looked at her as if he was her lackey. Then, she leaned into him as if she was going to tell him a secret. She was so close to him that he could smell her beautiful hair. She was so close to him that he wished he could reach out and touch her, hold her, and kiss her. "He's been secretly buying up all of that property under several different companies he owns," she said still pointing to the dozens of the homes that filled the background a mile back from the beach. "He'll be leveling all of those houses to make the property into high rise, high income condominiums. The entire beachscape in the background will one day be filled with high rise, high priced condos. If the people selling their homes only knew what his development plans were, they'd hold out for more money." He turned to look at the houses that lined the beach behind them. They've been there decades. Many of them were there when the beach was filled with amusement rides, hawkers, barkers, and hordes of people having fun on a Saturday night. Now with the amusement rides closed and the rollercoaster in such disrepair that it looked as if it was haunted, even though the beach was beautiful, albeit littered with trash, the backdrop was an eyesore. Curious enough for him to give her a longer look, when he asked about her father, she shrugged her answer as if she was embarrassed by her father's occupation. Perhaps she wasn't proud of the land that he developed. Perhaps she felt bad about the people he displaced for the sake of making money. Obviously, once developed, the city would never be the same. As if he was already in protest of land developers, he wondered, in the name of progress and tax base revenues, how many high rise apartments can any city have? How many malls do we need? Why must we continue tearing down houses that are filled with charm, character, history, and life for something new, modern, shiny, cold, and expensive? With her father personally changing the landscape forever or for the next hundred years, until the next real estate developer makes their mark, the only thing that never changed was the beach, the water, and the sky. Already reading into her answer, she didn't have to tell him that she had a problem with her father, he knew that already. Just by looking at her, he knew there was more to their father and daughter relationship but not wanting to unduly upset her, especially when he just met her, he didn't dare ask. Just by looking at her, he knew she was from money. He could tell. Yet, money wasn't everything. Even though she was smiling and was seemingly happy, there was a sadness about her. Even though she had beautiful eyes, she had sad eyes. She looked as if she had survived something horrific or had endured a personal tragedy so bad that it changed her and forced her to prematurely grow from a child to a woman. Reading more into her external beauty, there was something deep within her that she was hiding. He didn't know what that was at the time but, as if she was a bird with a clipped wing, it was enough that he identified that there was something seriously wrong with her. Then, later that day, when her father caught them together making love before fucking, he knew she had been sexually intimate with her father, whether willingly or not. Nonetheless her suspected incestuous background and the perceived emotional problems that would stem from that, the fact still remained that she's a rich girl and he's a working man. No doubt, her father, Mr. Marina, if that's his name, would never approve of them starting a relationship. No doubt, Mr. Marina would never want a man like him to be intimate with his daughter, especially if he was the man taking his daughter away from him. Despicable. What kind of father, obviously an educated and wealthy man, has sex with his daughter? Perhaps she reminds him of his wife, her mother. Perhaps in the way that he's trying to build for the future, he'd trying to hold onto the past. More than that and complicating matters even more, with her just a teenager, Robert was older than her. Quickly he did the math in his head. When he's fifty-something-years-old, she'll be forty-something-years-old. There'd be nothing wrong with their age then but she comes from money and he doesn't. Only, way ahead of himself in the growth of their imagined relationship, why would someone who looked like her go on a date with someone who looked like him? "I see," said Robert suddenly feeling awkward that, because of the success of her father, she had much more money than he'll ever have. Obviously with her not wanting to talk about her father anymore, and with him happy that she didn't, she changed the subject and gave him that sexy smile again. A dumb question for him to ask her about her father's occupation, even then, before her father saw them naked and in bed together, he somehow suspected that he was walking on thin ice by asking her about her father. Maybe instead of asking her questions, he just needed to allow her talk. Maybe he should allow her to ask him a question. A good way for him not to say the wrong thing and ruin their brief time together, maybe he'd just play off of whatever she said. Only, as much as he seemingly annoyed her with his question about what her father does, she surprised him with her question. "Would you like to see my house?" 'Huh? What did she just say? Would he like to see her house? That was kind of an odd question for a woman, especially such a beautiful woman, he just met to ask him. Normally, he'd be the one asking the woman that kind of question. Would you like to see my apartment? Would you like to see my bedroom? Would you like to see me naked? Would you like to have sex with me?' Only, he'd never ask any woman those questions when just meeting her. He wondered if that was a code for would you like to go home with me and have sex. He could only wish. Nah, someone who looked like her would never have sex with someone who looked like him. Someone who looked like her would never have to ask a man for sex. Even though he doubted it was a code for sex, he hoped it was. Only, unless he was a rich celebrity or a famous sports star, men who looked like him never had sex with women who looked like her. A different and more innocent time back then, maybe with her having no ulterior motives in mind, she just wanted to show him her house. Maybe she's just lonely. Only, he could never imagine her ever being lonely. He could never imagine her without a man by her side. Imagining her living in a mansion overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, he could only imagine what her house looked like. Yet, even if she was ugly, he'd go with her to see her house. He's never been inside of a rich person's house. "Sure," he said suddenly nervous about meeting her parents when he hardly even knew her. He couldn't believe she invited him home. He couldn't believe he was going to spend even more time with her than less. He couldn't believe she didn't reject him when he first approached her on the beach. Maybe he was underestimating himself and this was the beginning of something beautiful. Maybe she was just as sexually attracted to him as he was sexually attracted to her. "Okay," she said. "You can follow me in your car," she said turning away from the water to walk towards her car parked beyond the beach. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with excitement. He imagined having ice tea with her parents. He imagined her father looking like Randolph Scott and her mother looking like Dina Merrill. Able to see what she'd look like 30 years from now, he was more excited about meeting her mother than he was about meeting her father. "My car is all the way back there. I'll get my car and meet you back here," he said jogging to his car before turning in his tracks and walking back to her. "Wait. What kind of car do you have?" He imagined her driving a white Volkswagen bug or a puke green AMC Gremlin. "A black Mustang Cobra with gold lettering. You can't miss it," she said with a laugh. 'Damn. She drives his favorite car, a Mustang and a Cobra at that.' Only at the time, he didn't know that it was a wimpy generation II Mustang, a little better than the car that Mary Tyler Moore drove in her Mary Tyler Moore show. Hopefully her parents aren't home, no doubt, otherwise, she wouldn't invite him home. Right? Yet, for all that she knew of him, he could have been an axe murder, a serial rapist, or a religious fanatic. Conversely, for all that he knew of her, she could have been emotionally disturbed and, for the sake of getting attention from her father, could cry rape as soon as he set foot in her house. "But what about your parents?" A bit premature in expecting to meet her family when he's only known her for only a few minutes, and with him seemingly so much older than she was, he already dreaded meeting her father. "My parents? It's just my Dad and me," she said with some obvious sadness and walking towards him when he walked toward her. He figured her father was divorced until she told him otherwise. "My mother died years ago." Picking up on her sorrow and, as if knowing her better than he did, he looked at her and felt her pain. "Oh. I'm sorry," he said. She looked as if she was about to cry but she didn't. "It's okay. I hardly remember her. If it wasn't for the photos of her that my Dad has everywhere, I wouldn't even miss her," she said. A dumb question but thinking that he needed to stay on the subject of her mother, he asked. "Did she look like you?" Feeling stupid, as soon as he asked the question, he regretted asking her that. He imagined a woman as tall, as sexy, and as beautiful, albeit older, as she was. He imagined her growing and blossoming into a real beauty, not that she already wasn't a real beauty, she was. "We could have been twins," she said with a laugh. "The gene pool in our family is amazing with the women all looking do very much alike." He imagined having a daughter who looked like her. "Wow," he said. Suddenly, he imagine an entire family, cousins, aunts, and sisters, filled with women who looked like Emma. "I looked just like my mother when she was my age. If only she was still alive, we could have done on one of those mother and daughter Ivory soap commercials," she said with a laugh. Nervous about meeting her father, yet a price that he'd willingly pay to stay longer with her, he asked the question. "What about your father meeting me? I mean, it would be a little awkward meeting him, when I hardly know you," he said. She gave him that smile that made him want to do anything for her. "Not to worry. My Dad isn't home. He won't be home for hours. We have all afternoon to ourselves," she said with glee while giving him that electric smile again that promised so much when he expected so little until he imagined so very much more. 'Her Dad isn't home? He won't be home for hours? We have all afternoon to ourselves?' He wondered what she had planned. As if he was the woman and she was the man, suddenly he was afraid. Even if he imagined his wildest sexual fantasy with Emma, he couldn't even imagine what would happen once he was in her house and alone with her. With her looking so very young, he just hoped to God that she was over 18-years-old. If she wasn't, he'd look but he wouldn't touch. He'd talk to her and listen to her but he'd never kiss her, not that she'd ever allow him to kiss her. Moreover, he could never refuse her kiss if she wanted to kiss him or did kiss him. Yet, forgetting about her age, she was so beautiful that all he wanted to do was to stare at her. He imagined making out with her on her couch and in her living room. He imagined himself feeling her breast through her bikini top before she asked him to leave. Only he hoped that she wasn't like all of the other women he met in his life, feigning their innocence and pretending that they were all virgins. He despised women who pretended they've never seen a cock, stroked a cock, fucked a cock, and/or sucked a cock before. Yet, with her looking so very young, she could be innocent. She could be a virgin. God forbid she should lie about her age, she could be younger than 18-years-old. "I'll follow you in my car," said Robert eager to be alone with her in her house. "Where do you live?" She turned and pointed past the beach and more out to the water. "Marblehead," she said without emotion or pride. He looked to where she was pointing and he could see Marblehead in the distance. If he lived in Marblehead, he'd be proud. If he lived in Marblehead, he'd never leave his house. "Marblehead?" He didn't know anyone from Marblehead. Only rich people lived in Marblehead. "Why?" He suspected she was rich but suddenly now he felt common. Suddenly, he felt like the poor loser that he was. He felt awkward having to explain his surprise that she lived in Marblehead. What could he say about that now without reminding her that they were from different classes? She was rich and he was a working man living week to week. "I never knew anyone who lived in that ritzy town," he said with a nervous laugh. She made a face as if it was no big deal that she lived in Marblehead. "My family has lived there in the same house for generations. It was my grandmother's house. She left it to my father before she died. He bought the house on either side of him and more than doubled the size of the house," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "A bit ostentatious, our house dwarfs all of the other houses." * * * * * With the entire state of Massachusetts not very big, it was just a short ride from Revere beach to Marblehead, an exclusive, small, coastal, New England town right on the water. As soon as they pulled up to the house, which was something that looked like the Kennedy's might live in, and got out of their cars, she took him by the hand as if he was already her boyfriend when he just met her today, a mere hour ago. Before leading him inside, nothing more than a peck on the lips, as if testing his reaction to her kiss or as if kissing him goodnight, she turned to kiss him on the front porch. Then, as if teasing him, as soon as she broke off her kiss, she smiled and giggled. As if telling him that she liked him, he was surprised by the forwardness of her kiss. No woman has ever kissed him first. When she giggled like that, as if she was an immature, innocent teenager, he wondered about her age again. Then, as soon as she unlocked and closed the front door behind her, she pushed him up against the hall wall and kissed him, really kissed him, French kissed him. Blanking his mind with her kiss, he forgot all about the question of her age. At that point, in the way she was kissing him, he didn't care how old she was. Certainly for her to kiss him like that, she was definitely old enough. Then, without him as much as touching her, feeling her, and/or suggesting or coercing her to do so, he couldn't believe it when she removed her bikini top. 'Fuck me. Oh, my God!' As shocked as he was sexually excited, he couldn't stop staring at her naked, C cup breasts. Then, when he just stood there gawking at her tits, she reached down, took his hands in hers and put them on her naked breasts. She looked down to watch him feel her tits, fondle her tits, and finger her nipples. Then, with her taking control of him, she pressed her nearly naked body up against him and kissed him again. * * * * * He remembered the very first time seeing her. He saw her from afar, a football field away. Yet, even from that distance, he knew she was beautiful. As if seeing the sparkle of a diamond from a distance away, he knew she was a one-of-a-kind treasure. If only to catch up to her and to see what she looked like close up, women who look like her are a rare find. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #06 With her stopping to bend and pick up a seashell, walk down to the water, rinse it, and place it in her bag, it wasn't difficult for him to catch up to her. Not a very efficient process, instead of having to walk back and forth to the water, he remembered wondering why she didn't have two bags, one for sandy seashells and one for clean seashells. Yet, just as there was no explanation for love at first sight, there was nothing efficient about spending a day at the beach, especially when spending the day with her. Maybe walking back and forth, going from the sand to the water and back again, was relaxing to her. Seemingly what else did she have to do? He just wanted to reach her before someone else did. Not wanting to miss his chance of seeing her up close, meeting her, talking to her, and maybe even walking with her, it would be enough for him just to see what she looked like when standing next to her as he walked by her. God, he was so pathetic when it came to talking to a beautiful woman. Nervous and with his pulse racing, his hands were sweating. Not thinking he could ever get someone who looked like her to kiss him, he never imagined he could get someone who looked like her in bed. He lacked the confidence he needed to talk to her, never mind romance her and seduce her. Yet, if he didn't try to talk to her, he'd be kicking himself. If he just walked by her and allowed someone else to hit on her, he'd regret that decision for the rest of his life. The least he could do was say is hello. Then, from there, depending on her reaction to his hello, he could say something about the beautiful day. He didn't have to ask her name and hit on her. He could just act normal and talk to her. He could tell her something of interest about Revere Beach or about the Atlantic Ocean, only he didn't know anything interesting about Revere Beach or the Atlantic Ocean other than the beach was sandy and the water was cold. * * * * * Yet, no matter how he remembered her, there was no denying that she was a good looking woman, the hottest and sexiest woman he's ever seen and yet to meet. More critical of women now than he was in his mid-twenties, maybe if he met her now instead of before, he might not even look twice at her. Yet, he doubted that. He couldn't imagine any man not looking at her twice and then staring at her. In the way that Kate Upton or Heidi Klum would always be beautiful, she was undeniably beautiful back then and no doubt still was. He remembered that she was better looking than any Hollywood movie star and sexier than any celebrity he knew. Better looking than Jacqueline Bisset, Diana Rigg, and even Mary Tyler Moore forty years ago, she was the prettiest women he had ever seen. Yet, it's funny how Robert's memory helped to cooperate for him to paint pleasing, sexy pictures of her when, perhaps, he imagined her to be more beautiful than she was. Yet, no matter how he remembered her, there was no doubt about it, she was indeed beautiful. Perhaps if he saw her now, he might not even recognize her. Yet, then again, no matter what she looked like now, he'd still remember her big, beautiful, violet eyes, her warm smile, and her fun sense of humor. Unless she had lived a life of pure and utter misery or had been stricken with ill health, he enjoyed imagining, her good looks never changing very much with age. In the way that Vanessa Williams looked when she was denied the Miss America crown because of her nude photos, she still looks good now. Beautiful woman have a way of looking beautiful their whole lives. In his mind's eye, with him having to suffer living his life without her, she was the one who got away. He always wondered how different his life would have been had he married her and had children with her instead of marrying his wife, Lorraine, and having a child with her, may she rest in peace. It was so very long ago, a lifetime ago, forty years ago, the first time he saw Emma and fell in love with her. Love at first sight, not truly believing it then, with him never forgetting her and always thinking about her, he certainly believed it now. Not one to believe such a thing before seeing her standing off in the horizon, indeed, it was love at first sight on that hot summer day in August. Even after he was married, whenever he thought of her salaciously and sexually while masturbating himself with the thought of her naked and having wild sex with her, he always felt guilty. As if he was vicariously cheating on his wife for even just remembering her name, remembering her kissing him and remembering her topless, naked, and having sex with her, he wished he had married Emma instead of Lorraine. Forever looking over his shoulder, he always imagined bumping into her on the street, seeing her go by on a bus, in a car, or running through the airport to catch her flight. Only, he never did. Always disappointed when thinking about her and wishing he could run into her, he never saw her again. He had his chance and he blew it. Yet, something he'd never know, if he did see her again, he always wondered if he'd leave Lorraine for her. What about his daughter? Would he leave Cynthia for her too? Just how high of a price would he have paid for true love? Just what would he have given up to be with his beloved Emma? Then the realism of his lost love replaced his sexual fantasy and he felt sad. If he met her now, would she even remember who he was? Even if she did remember him, would she still want him after forty years? With them changing into two different people, just as she wouldn't know who he was, he wouldn't know who she was. Perhaps having the sexual fantasy of her is better than having the reality of living the rest of his life with her. Maybe she never wanted him in the way he wanted her. Maybe she never thought of him in the way he thought of her. With him drinking a lot back then and stopping cold turkey, maybe she was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. With the bright sun shining in his eyes, maybe the woman he thought he met on the beach was old and decrepit instead of young and beautiful. Maybe the woman he met on the beach was a witch who cast a spell on him. Maybe her spell was for him to forever remember her after being with her that one time. How could he love a woman so very much and allow her to leave without a fight, not even a protest? That was a question he had been asking himself for four decades. Somehow he believed that it was not meant to be. Somehow he believed that she was too good for him. Yet, why didn't he go after her? That's the question. Why didn't he try to find her? That was something even he couldn't answer. In the way that F. Scott Fitzgerald's Great Gatsby held parties in the hopes that Daisy Buchanan would attend one of his extravagant affairs, he could have taken ads in the newspapers. Only, how would that look posting ads to find another woman, the supposed love of his life, when he was married to Lorraine? If he had any hopes of finding her, too late now, he should have tracked her down when she left for Europe forty, long years ago. He was young, too young to know any better, and she was so much younger than him to know what she wanted for the rest of her life in the way that he thought he did. Compared to him, she was a child, an immature teenager but that didn't stop him from falling in love with her and that didn't stop her from having sex with him. He remembered thinking that someone better and more his age would come along but no one did, not even Lorraine. Even though he felt as if he loved her, truly loved her sometimes more than he did other times and more than he did other women, he never loved Lorraine in the way that he loved Emma. Without a doubt, Lorraine was no Emma but she made a good wife. Even though she ruined his life and obviously he ruined her life too, they stayed married. Even though she truly loved him, he never really loved her. Going through the motions, he played the loving and attentive husband. With his heart already given to Emma and broken, he never had room to love Lorraine in the way she deserved to be loved. He felt bad for using Lorraine but he never felt bad enough to tell her that he didn't love her. He didn't feel bad enough to leave her. Feeling that his life was already over, sadness ruined his happiness and depression controlled his moods. He remembered thinking that his life could have been worse if he was in prison or had some sort of medical affliction. While preserving his love and his sexual thoughts for Emma, the only time he was happy was when masturbating over the memory of having sex with her. Forcing himself to be happy, even when he wasn't, he just relegated himself to being content even though he wasn't while married to Lorraine. His heart was split in two. He loved two women, one more than the other. If only Lorraine knew that he still held a candle for Emma, she wouldn't understand. She wouldn't be happy. Only he never told her about Emma. He didn't dare. If he had told Lorraine that there was another woman on his mind and in his heart, she would have seen through his façade. She would have known that he didn't love her and had never loved her. She'd be angry and would probably ask him to leave. Yet, having known real love, he didn't love his wife in the way he loved Emma, his love at first sight and his true first love. He never loved any woman in the way he loved Emma. * * * * * The funny thing, after having a difficult time meeting women, the right sort of women, and tired of going out of his way to meet the wrong kind of women, just before meeting Emma, he had no intention of meeting anyone. He was done with women, at least for a little while. With his work as a market research analyst and with his goal of becoming the marketing manager one day, he allowed his weekends to interfere with his weekdays in detriment to his work. He made obvious work related mistakes that he wouldn't have made if he hadn't been drinking the night before and gone to work hungover. Lucky he still had a job, especially after having met and was preoccupied with Emma, he now made it his personal mission to be more focused on and more successful his career. Maybe if he earned more money, her father would accept him as a potential suitor for his daughter. He needed to concentrate more on work and on his career than on going out drinking after work with the guys. Wanting to get away from his horny, immature friends, who just wanted to spend their Saturday nights bar hopping while hoping to hook up with sluts and whores, needing some time to himself, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Today was the he day that he started a whole new regimen of diet, exercise, and no drinking. What better place to find the solitude and the motivation he needed than to walk the beach early in the morning before the crowds ruin the quiet with children, noise, and litter? Before the sun was too hot to bear, what better place to think while drinking in the beauty of the ocean than a brisk walk along the beach? That was the day he met Emma. It was a hot, August day when he met her, the hottest day of the year. She was pretty, probably prettier than she was compared to how he remembered her to be or even than she really was back then. Actually, now that he remembered her, forget about her being pretty, she was beautiful. Without a doubt, with the memory of her still clear in his mind, she was even more beautiful when first seeing her than he remembered her being now, even after forty years of not seeing her. Now with her always on his mind, he compared every woman he dated, saw, and met to her. Even though he was still so very young, only 25-years-old, he was already fed up with getting drunk, picking up women, and playing games. He was done with wasting money on drinks, dinners, and movies for him to never call or see the woman again. He needed a break from dating and especially from drinking. A good place to dry out and to clear his head, he loved the beach. He loved the white sand and the blue water that seemingly went on forever before disappearing in the sky far in the horizon. If ever he had money, he'd buy a house on the ocean. If ever he had money, he'd never work again and just become a beach bum. Only why wait to retire when this is something he could aspire to now? If he couldn't afford to live right on the beach, he could certainly afford to live closer to the beach. Only, with the prices of housing, even those homes not on the beach but in close proximity to the beach out of his financial reach, he couldn't even afford to rent a place never mind buy a place. The tourists jacked up the prices each summer to make his dreams of living at the beach more unrealistic. He'd have to win the lottery to afford the rent to live on the beach. * * * * * In was the summer of 1975 and her name was Emma. A half Italian and half Irish beauty with long, lush, blue black hair, olive skin, and violet eyes, she was amazing. The contrast of her light eyes against her black hair was something he'd never forget and would always remember. A sexy cross between Sophia Loren, albeit without the Italian accent, and Maureen O'Hara, albeit without the red hair, if anyone looked like a younger version of Elizabeth Taylor, it was she. Other than some of the literary classics that used Emma as the name of the main character, he didn't know anyone with that name. As much as he loved her, he loved her name. So easy to say, he could just whisper it in her ear while making love to her, utter it in his dreams at night while sleeping, scream it out loud while cumming when masturbating, or say it while driving his car. "Emma." He loved her name as much as he loved her. A feminine name of two syllables and four letters with two vowels and two consonants, he couldn't even imagine how many times he wrote that name over and again on bits of scrap paper. From that day forward, haunting him for the rest of his life, Emma became his favorite name. There was no other name he liked better than Emma. Even Lorraine's name took a distant back seat to her name. "Emma." Whenever he was horny and found his hand tightly gripping and slowly stroking his cock, instead of breathing out his wife's name, Lorraine, he breathe out Emma. Instead of breathing out Lynda Carter, Miss America of 1972, his idea of a truly beautiful woman, he echoed Emma over and again. Now that he remembered her, he was enamored with Lynda Carter, Wonder Woman, back then. With the two women looking so very much alike, tall, sexy, shapely, and beautiful, Lynda Carter could have been Emma's older sister. "Emma." As if he was on top of her with his cock buried in her shaved pussy or if she was on her knees pleasuring him with her mouth, he thought of Emma. He always thought of Emma. He never stopped thinking of Emma. Even at the most inopportune moments, whether he was driving his car, making love to Lorraine, or reading a book, Emma would invade his thoughts in the way of a ghost haunting him. "Emma." Always on his mind and never quite able to forget her, he always wondered where she was, who she was with, and what was she doing. "Emma." How different his life would have been had he married Emma instead of Lorraine. "Emma." * * * * * He spotted her from afar. She was walking the beach alone and stopping to pick up seashells, study them, rinse them in the foamy saltwater, and shake them dry before depositing them in her plastic bag. Even from that distance of nearly a football field away, he could tell that she was a rare beauty. Just by the way she walked, just by the way she moved, and just by the way she carried herself with such perfect posture as if she was a prima ballerina or a runway model, he couldn't stop staring at her. He couldn't help but think of the song, The Girl from Ipanema. "Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking, and when she passes, each one she passes goes 'A-a-a-h.' When she walks she's like a samba that swings so cool and sways so gentle that when she passes, each one she passes goes 'A-a-a-h.' Oh, but I watch her so sadly. How can I tell her I love her? Yet, I would give my heart gladly but each day as he walks to the sea, she looks straight ahead, not at me. Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking and when she passes, I smile, but she doesn't see. She just doesn't see. No, she just doesn't...see me." He wondered if she'd see him. He wondered if she'd notice him. He wondered as he walked closer if she'd be like the girl from Ipanema and would just pass by him without even noticing him and being aware of him. "Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking and when she passes, I smile, but she doesn't see. She just doesn't see. No, she just doesn't...see me." Maybe in the way he looked through the priest at his own wedding when marrying Lorraine and while imagining marrying Emma, she'd look right through him while thinking of someone and something else. As tragic as that would have been had she not noticed him then, it would be even more tragic if she didn't remember him now? As if he was someone that she would have easily forgotten instead of someone she would have always remembered, how painful that would be if she didn't recognize him and know who he was? If only by her eyes, by her smile, and by her laugh, he'd still remember her no matter what she looked like now. Perhaps what happened between them didn't mean to her what it meant to him. Perhaps, sorry that she started a sexual relationship with him, with her not realizing the everlasting impression she'd make on him, she was glad when her father forbade her to see him and him to see her again. Starting her life anew, perhaps she was happy that her father shipped her off to Europe to further continue her studies abroad. While watching her walking slowly along the beach looking for seashells, he remembered looking at her as if she was part of the seascape scenery and she was. Hoping to catch up to her before someone else staked their claim on her and stopped her to talk to her in the way he hoped to do, he walked closer. In the way that the legendary mermaid is queen of the sea or in the way that a sexy siren of Greek mythology safeguards the beach from advancing ships, he watched her as if she belonged there. Her sexy profile complemented and seemingly completed the beauty of the sky and the ocean. The beauty and the artistry of her made him feel artistic, even though he wasn't. Yet, if he was a painter, inspired by her beauty, he'd paint her. If he was a sculptor, inspired by her shapely figure, he'd sculpt her. If he was a poet, inspired by the essence of her, he'd write a poem called Emma. If he was a song writer, inspired by her joy and happiness, he'd write a song called Emma. If he was a writer, inspired by the story he hoped to have to tell, he'd write their love story but he was none of those things. He wasn't a painter, a sculptor, a poet, a song writer, or a novelist. He was just a regular guy and an average Joe who happened upon a beautiful woman walking along the beach as if she was a mirage and his sexual fantasy. * * * * * A natural beauty, he could tell she was beautiful even from that great of a distance. He had watched enough movies and lusted over enough leading ladies, from Natalie Wood to Claudia Cardinale to Julie Christie and everyone one in between on the silver screen, to know a beautiful woman when he saw one. Only with so very many women who were attractive and even pretty, it was uncommonly rare to see a truly beautiful woman. Without a doubt, no matter how he remembered her, she was truly beautiful. She was the kind of woman he never saw without being accompanied by a handsome, well built, young man or under the protection of a burly bodyguard. If he saw her out and about today, she would have been the kind of woman who never would have been seen in public without a crowed of paparazzi surrounding her. Had she attended a Cannes Film Festival, some famous movie director would have taken the credit for discovering her while some famous actor would, no doubt, have tried to bed her. If she attended the Grand Prix race de Monaco, she would have attracted the love interest of every Formula One driver and the sexual interest of every millionaire playboy. Summer Romance Never Forgotten #06 With his heart beating louder and his pulse racing faster, he quickened his step to catch up to her before someone else did. Even at this early hour of the morning, the beach was filled with lecherous, old men and horny, young men. Yet, he didn't want to walk too fast that he'd be out of breath and sweating when he reached her. As if he was Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke or Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, he wanted to play it cool. He wanted to seem aloof and detached. He didn't want her to know that he knew that she was beautiful. Wanting to act disinterested even though he was very interested in knowing who she was and who she could be in his life, as if guided by the hand of fate, he wanted their first meeting to appear serendipitous. He needed to come up with a line but not just any line. He needed the perfect line. He needed to say something special. He needed to do something unforgettable. For him to get and maintain her attention, he needed to say to her what she had never heard anyone say before. Not only so much as what he should say but also how he should say it was as important too. His first impression may be his only impression and his last impression to make her notice him. The only chance he might have, he needed her to notice him. * * * * * Remembering that first time meeting her, never thinking he'd ever feel this way, now he wished that she had not responded to him. He wished she had ignored him. With him knowing what it felt like to hold her, to kiss her, and to make love to her, he wished he had never experienced the pure pleasure and the lustful love of her. Hard to believe but true, he wished she had not invited him home. He wished their first interaction had ended after a minute while walking the beach. She would have saved him from forty years of sadness and sexual frustration. She would have saved him from a broken heart. She would have freed him to love Lorraine in the way she wanted, needed, and deserved to be loved. Then he thought of what Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote, 'Tis better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all." Always believing that before, in the lovesick way she still felt after four decades, he surely didn't believe that now. In the way that too many women are quick to judge men by their covers and/or by their first lines, how does a man meet a beautiful woman without seeming phony? How does a man greet a beautiful woman without her thinking that he only wants her because she's beautiful and he only wants her for sex? In the way he already felt about her without even seeing her up close and without even talking to her, just as he knew she'd be right for him, he knew she'd see right through him. Only, she didn't see right through him or maybe she did. Instead of rejecting him, she invited him home. He couldn't believe it. Not only did she notice him but she invited him home. Maybe she just wanted to talk to him in private. Maybe she just wanted to show him her house. Maybe she was just as smitten with him as he was with her. Maybe she wanted him to give her hot sex. Only, knowing better than expecting someone like her to give someone like him sex, maybe she was just lonely and enjoyed talking to him. Having stumbled over women not as good looking as her and being rejected by women who weren't nearly as beautiful as she was, no doubt, someone who looked like her would never want someone who looked like him. It was just a fluke that she kissed him and had sex with him that fateful day. Not that he was homely, disfigured, or deformed but, definitely he was no movie star, he was no Robert Conrad, James Garner, or Lee Majors. With him lacking the self-confidence that he needed to win her heart, he didn't stand a chance with her. Yet with him alone with her on a fairly deserted beach, he may have a better chance of winning her heart than if he was in a bar loaded with other men. With nothing better to do, and with the saying of nothing ventured, nothing gained in mind, it was worth a try to strike up a conversation with her. If nothing else, he'd take the sound of her voice to bed with him. If nothing else, maybe she'd tell him her name and later than night, he could masturbate while saying her name over and again. If nothing else, while imagining her naked, and having sex with her naked body, he could imagine that his hand is her hand. * * * * * Unfortunately, not knowing how to act when in the presence of a beautiful woman, he suddenly became not only tongue-tied but also brain dead. Dumbstruck, he couldn't think of anything to say. As if meeting a runway model or a Playboy Bunny, with him always so horny, he'd be unable to stop himself from staring at her or saying the wrong thing and ruining everything before it even started. Yet, unlike meeting a girl in a bar, with her not seeing him approaching, with the cool ocean breeze cooling him, and with the sound of the ocean soothing him, he had time to think of something compelling to say but what? What could he possibly say to her that would turn her head and make her remember him? 'You remind me of one of Homer's sirens in the Odyssey,' he thought of saying. 'Nah, that's dumb. What if she doesn't know what a siren is? What if she's never read Homer's Odyssey? What if she thinks he's insulting her? What if she thinks he's being smug by showing off his college education?' Maybe he should just say, "Hi." Only, wanting to say something more than just that, something that would impress her enough to not only notice him but also remember him, he tried to think of a sincere opening line, a line that's fresh and has never been used. But what? What can he possibly say to her that hasn't been said before by some better looking hunk of a guy? Getting closer and more nervous now, he was nearly close enough to smell her perfume, if she was wearing any but she wasn't, and for her to hear his heart beating in his chest. Unable to think of anything else to say, and about to give her his Homer Odyssey siren line, he thought of Erich Segal's Love Story. Sure, all women loved reading that book and watching the movie. He could quote her a line from that, but what? He racked his brain trying to think what the most famous quote was in that movie. Finally, he remembered. "Love means never say you're sorry." Only, sorry? Sorry for what? He didn't do anything. He wasn't sorry for anything. Sorry that he was bothering her? Sorry that he wasn't better looking or rich? He had no idea what the Hell else to say to her for her to notice him and remember him. Distracted by her beauty and by her nearly naked, bikini clad body, he couldn't think. He needed to say something that didn't sound cliché, lame, or stupid. He needed to say something for her to give him her phone number. He needed to say something that would make her want to go out on a date with him. The closer he walked to her the better she looked. He thought all of the beautiful women who lived in California or New York but not in Boston and certainly not in Revere. With her focused on collecting her seashells, she never turned her beautiful head to look his way. The deep, hot sand didn't announce his approach in the way that the sidewalk or a wooden floor would. Besides, trying his best to come up with something in a hurry, he'd rather surprise her with something witty to say for her to remember him. Rejecting all of his lines that came to his mind as cliché and/or phony, he needed to come up with something uniquely different to get her attention. Obviously someone who looked like her must have men hitting on her all the time. She must have heard every line under the sun. He needed to say something very special and memorable to someone like her. Closer and closer he walked until he walked close enough to appreciate more of her bikini clad body. A gross understatement, she had a nice ass. Better than nice, she had the perfect ass. Definitely, she had the best ass he's ever seen that wasn't a glossy photo in a men's magazine. As if each cheek was beating for him as she walked, she had a perfect heart shaped ass. Syncopated in its rhythmic movement, with him more of a breast man that he was an ass man, he couldn't stop staring at round, shapely her ass. Suddenly, rejecting her breasts in favor of her ass, he became an ass man until he noticed her round, full breasts when she turned to the side. 'Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking and when she passes, I smile, but she doesn't see. She just doesn't see. No, she just doesn't...see me,' silently he sang the Girl from Ipanema song to himself while hoping that she'd notice him. Walking closer and closer, he came right up behind her. 'Wow! Oh, my God. I can't believe how beautiful she is, even more beautiful the closer I walk' Just when he was about to walk beside her, just when he was about to deliver his line from Homer's Odyssey or Segal's Love Story, he still hadn't decided which, she stopped short to bend at the waist to pick up a seashell. Rather than humping her ass with his hips, and grab her ass to break his fall, he threw himself on the sand beside her. "Shit, sorry," he said nearly crashing into her. "Sorry," he said again this time with a laugh. "Actually love means never having to say you're sorry." She laughed too. "You have no reason to apologize to me," she said with a laugh. She had an awesome voice, a voice better than he expected her to have. Reminiscent of Ava Gardner's voice, her voice was so feminine, so full of life, and so sexy. "I, um, was looking out at the water, while wondering, um about Homer and his sirens, you know, um, from the Odyssey." Shit came out all wrong. He sounded like an idiot. "The Odyssey? Someone's a romantic. Most men don't read Homer," she said with another laugh. "Hi," she said laughing at him while offering him a hand up. She gave him a look that melted his soul. "You're right though, love does mean never having to say you're sorry." Good thing he was already down in the sand because she gave him a look that made him weak kneed. 'Huh? What did she just say? She just quoted him.' He took her hand that was so soft and yet so strong. She helped pull him up to a standing position. Talk about first impressions, maybe she'll never forget that he literally fell for her. "I loved that book," he said. "I'm not ashamed to say that I cried in the movie when Ali McGraw died and Ryan O'Neal lost his one true love." She laughed when he stood beside her and brushed the sand from his clothes. Then, she laughed again while staring at him. She noticed him. He couldn't believe she was staring at him in the way he had been staring at her. Her stare made him feel special, until she said what she said next. "You remind me of Buster Keaton on Candid Camera," she said. "He did a lot of those prat falls. He was really funny and you are too." 'Funny? Buster Keaton? That old guy? Gee, thanks a lot,' he said to himself. Yet, better that she noticed him than not. He'll take that as a compliment. If he couldn't get her with his looks or with his line, he was happy to get her with his humor. As long as he got her, he really didn't care how he got her. * * * * * Forty years later, Robert sat on the bench that overlooked the length of the beach where he first saw her while thinking of Emma. Forty years ago today, on this very day, he saw her for the first time and for the last time. Then, as if he was seeing things, as if he was imagining her as he remembered her, there in the distance was a tall, striking, young woman with long, blue black hair and wearing a blue bikini. 'Oh, my God. No way!' His heart was beating out of his chest. 'Fuck me! That can't be her but it looks just like her. There's just no way that's her. How could she look the same forty years later? Maybe she's a witch who haunts this section of the beach. Maybe I imagined the whole thing as I'm imagining it all now. Only, I don't care if it's my imagination or if she's a witch, it's Emma. I'm seeing Emma again.' Then, the woman waved to him. He couldn't believe she waved to him but how could she recognize him forty years later. He's aged so much in forty years. More importantly and unbelievably, how could she look the same forty years later? Just as he was about to return her wave, he heard a voice behind him. "You're funny. You make me laugh. You remind me of Buster Keaton," she said. "I'm sorry," he said turning to address the voice behind him. "Pardon?" Filled with excitement and disbelief, as if he was seeing things before and hearing things now, he turned completely around to the voice that emanated from behind him. She was a tall, beautiful, and mature woman with blue black hair. She had that smile that he'd recognize anywhere and those eyes that he'd never forget and that still haunt him whenever he thinks of her. Emma stood behind him beaming. "Love means never having to say sorry," she said. To be continued... Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote.