Remembering Linda

Sometimes sex is about comfort, about wanting to be close to another person. Sometimes it's about wanting to be accepted. Once in a while it's about love. More often than we'd like to think about, it's about darker motives -- power, greed, revenge. But sometimes it's just about "Whew, wild thing, you make my heart sing!" That was Linda.

Linda and I were a couple for about four months several years ago. If you read "Remembering Karen," you may remember Karen and I were also together for four months. The four months with Linda were different. Severely different.

It's not that Linda was a bad person -- although she kinda was -- it was more that she was ... I think the medical term is "totally whacked." When it came to reality, she'd driven through that neighborhood occasionally, but had never moved in. Not even for a short-term rental. But she had one saving grace: She was possibly the greatest fuck ever to have walked the earth.

I'm not particularly proud of myself for having stayed together that long with someone who was basically the "Rainman" of sex, but we all do stuff we're not proud of. Especially when we're 20. More especially when we're in a phase where the four basic food groups are coke, speed, tequila and ... well, OK, maybe there wasn't a fourth at the time. But y'know what? To hell with pride. It was worth it.

We met at a party at ... I dunno, somebody's house and I remember her not making much of an impression from a distance. Linda was attractive enough in a kind of Midwest white-bread way, but she had that sorta Sandra Bernhardt overbite thing that some people find really sexy but I don't. She also had that tiny bit of baby fat you'd normally associate with girls five or six years younger. And though I admitted to doing lots of things I wasn't proud of, associating with girls five or six years younger wasn't one of them.

But up close was different. Oh my, was it ever different. Personal space was not a concept Linda grasped. When she talked to you, she stood so close that her face filled your entire field of vision and her eyes would lock onto yours and draw you into a whole different world -- a world you knew you should probably run away from but couldn't. Two hours after those eyes locked onto mine we were in bed together.

Trying to describe Linda in a conventional way is useless. But y'know how we all have super-sensitive spots? Obvious ones like cunts and cocks and nipples, and not so obvious ones like ear lobes and backs of knees? Well, pick your top three, compress them down to one single molecule and then build a human being out of nothing but clones of that molecule. That was Linda. On an off day.

Since I was working nights then and Linda, at least theoretically, worked days we didn't have a whole lot of time together and tended to spend most of that together time in bed. Which is probably why I didn't realize just how reality-challenged she was and why I thought going off with her on vacation was a totally fine plan.

Although when she mentioned a cruise, that didn't exactly gas my jets. Cruises always struck me as kinda stuffy and formal and basically an old people's thing. Not the one she had in mind though. It was a run through the Caribbean on a converted fishing boat where you could live in a bathing suit. The one formal event was the "Captain's Dinner," at which they required you to wear a clean T-shirt or "at least turn a dirty one inside out." All right!

"And the best part is that it's free," Linda said. I'm more than a little thrifty by nature, so "free" was a pretty magical word. Yes, I know I should have asked why it was free, but with Linda I figured it was best to stick with the "Don't ask don't go to jail (hopefully)" policy. All I knew was that I would have to amuse myself at the airport in Miami for the better part of four hours while she did whatever had to be done to make the trip free. Didn't seem like a bad deal. So I did it.

When Linda finished her "work" part of the trip, we hopped on a plane and two short flights and a brief layover in Puerto Rico later we were in St. Kitt's and being shuttled to the ship. And it was fucking magnificent! Sunshine and blue skies and tradewinds and infectious reggae rhythms and something called rum swizzles that somehow managed to cool you off and heat you up at the same time.

So there we were, sprawled out on the deck, wearing bikinis that would probably get us arrested in several red states, surrounded by water bluer than I could imagine, sipping away until my brain was as foggy as the airport in San Francisco where we had started.

"These go down so easy," I giggled over my eighth (or tenth ... or twelfth) swizzle. "So do I," Linda answered, trailing her finger across the sun-glistened skin just above the bottom of my bikini.

Foggy brain or not, that got my attention. "Yeah? If I take this swimsuit off are ya gonna show me?" I love teasing and thought we could enjoy flirting with each other as kind of a verbal foreplay. But then she did that eye thing and said, "Let's go to our cabin" and I forgot all about teasing. We made it to within maybe twenty steps of the cabin before Linda wrapped her arms around me from behind, cupped my breasts in her hands and whispered, "Get inside now and climb up the ladder."

One drawback to a converted fishing ship is that the cabins are small -- I mean really small -- so instead of a luxurious queen or king you get bunk beds. That's what the ladder was all about. I was on the second step by the time the door closed, but I didn't get any farther. Linda's hands caught my hips and spun me around to face her. The height difference was just enough to bring my breasts level with her mouth.

"You have the most beautiful tits I've ever seen," she said after peeling my top off. (Linda always did have a tendency to lie, but I was not in a mood to argue.) "Perfect size, perfect shape," she continued as her tongue lapped around the areola. "And nipples that just beg to be sucked." Those were the last words I heard before she filled her mouth with my breast, drawing her head back until her lips were squeezed tightly around my nipple.

I clung tightly to the ladder as her mouth moved from one nipple to the other -- sucking, licking, her tongue fluttering over the sensitive tips. I remember hearing moans and not being sure if they were mine or Linda's.

When she finally pulled away from my breasts, she did that eye thing again and said, "I think it's time to climb up another step or two." One more step up the ladder and I felt kisses move down across my tummy while skillful little fingers shed my last bit of covering. I knew what one more step would mean. And when I took that step I could feel Linda's tongue drag lower, through the light patch of hair, across my clit and finally between my swollen lips.

Linda pushed my knees as wide apart as the ladder would allow and slid her tongue deep into my cunt, slowly rotating it and making me rock back and forth against her face. Y'know how sometimes when someone is going down on you it's like every nerve ending in your body abandons where it's supposed to be and they all have this big festival in your crotch? Well, this was Mardi Gras and Halloween in the Castro all rolled together. Especially when she brought her mouth to my clit and sucked on it. That is always the one thing that is guaranteed to get me off and I was well on my way when Linda stopped and told me to turn around.

I learned early on to go along with whatever Linda suggested in situations like this because it just made her more intense and the more intense she got ... well, you get the idea. So I turned and rested my upper body on the top bunk while Linda kissed the cheeks that the bikini had let be kissed by the sun all afternoon. But then she used her hands to spread those cheeks and her tongue found a place that even the bikini had covered.

Oh ... my ... god! It's not like I'd never had anybody do that before, but this was totally outrageous. I clawed at the sheets, trying to hold on as my feet dangled somewhere off the ladder and that energetic little tongue did things to my ass that made me laugh and cry and scream and finally settle into a mantra of "don't stop, don't stop, don't stop." I don't think she would have anyway but I seriously did not want to take that chance. In the position I was in I couldn't push back against her, but I didn't have to. Her tongue was deeply inside me when I felt her finger slip just as deeply into my cunt, finger-fucking me hard and fast. There was no contact with my clit, but for once it wasn't necessary.

The contractions didn't build slowly; they just whammed me with thunderbolt force and suddenness and by the time they subsided a second wave had already started.

That cruise was the pinnacle of my relationship with Linda. Shortly after we got home I switched to working days so that we spent more time together and I got to see more of what she was like out of bed -- the jealousy, the paranoia, the ... never mind, it's a long list. Eventually, being the greatest fuck to ever walk the earth wasn't enough and I left. Escaped is probably a better word. I hope that at some point she got help and got better. But I doubt it