When Old Is New Again

Checking her diary, she realized, nervously that it was only a few days until Chris arrived. Although she was really looking forward to seeing her, other memories rudely thrust sharply into her mind.

"God," she thought angrily, "why can't I get him out of my mind?"

20 years before she had had a strange, brief and unbelievably passionate affair with her friend Chris' brother. It was an interlude that rightfully, should have been shelved and sealed, forgotten. Her boyfriend (husband now) had left for the summer as soon school let out at the end of April; and then, in those halcyon days before computers and networks and e-mail, not dropped her a line, picked up the phone or in any way or means, touched base. A long, sometimes acrimonious history between them which resulted in an 8 month hiatus after a vicious breakup as she left the province and traveled overseas had ended with their reuniting on her return. This new relationship was barely 6 months old, untested, uncertain and tentative – having him leave for what had now turned into two months without a word had left her vulnerable and doubting.

Rick was struggling with the very recent breakup of a bad marriage. Unbelievably good looking, Rick was tall with dark, soft hair, chiseled cheeks and jaw and absolutely drop dead eyes. He had a teasing tongue, broad shoulders and washboard abs – earned honestly through a 10 year stint in the army. He was also romantic, committed and believed in happily ever after. To say that he was devastated by the breakup of his marriage was a massive understatement.

She often thought later that they were like two wounded souls. She had known Chris' family for several years and had come to view their boisterous, loving, loud household as a second home. To this point she had never considered either Rick or his brother in any light other than a brotherly one – and was never certain what changed the dynamics.

But at a wedding for a mutual friend, a deep liking and light flirtation deepened and changed into something else. He, Chris and she were returning home, regrettably in those less politically correct days, with more in them than they should for driving. Like giddy children, when they hit a red light they would play "123 Red Light" – throwing the car into park, spilling out and running rapidly around the car to throw themselves back in before the light turned green. At one point, she careened into Rick, the two of them smacking up against each other and laughing, falling in a heap.

Even now, evocative and unforgettable, she remembers the smell of the pavement, warmed by the hot sun during the day, retaining that heat as she lay, his firm body half over her softer one, his longish dark hair brushing her cheek. A hyperawareness invaded her at the feel of his hard male body, the soft globes of her breasts swelling up against the chest pressing against them, her nipples swelling and tightening, his scotch laced breath soft against the side of her mouth. Between her legs, a pulling and tightening began, an aching and dampness and Monique is uncertain and shocked and even embarrassed at her unexpected, unlooked for arousal. She remembers closing her eyes in the that instance of time, hearing the hum of the electric streetlamp, her nerve endings hyperextended and reaching, taking a deep breath and almost imperceptibly but helplessly, tentatively nudging her hips against him … and feeling, unbelievably, the long hot hard evidence of his own arousal.

Chris had reached, and laughing, pulled her from underneath, and laughing again, they raced to the car … but her eyes met his and something was understood.

Later, after she had been dropped off, she had run into the shower, there to feverishly wash and shave and cream and soften. A negligee, soft and gauzy and then the knock, and he was there. Barely a word, just hands and lips, heat and the liquid, sweet, hard feel of his cock in her hand. Foreplay minimal, between her legs was an abyss, aching, yearning.

He pushed her back against the bed, impatiently pushing aside the strip of cloth between her legs. One hand grasped his stiff, moist, prick while the other large, strong hand pulled her hips to him and he enters in a long, harsh stroke which wrests a scream from her as her hips surge upward into his hand, her long legs wrapping around his waist, her ass tightening as she struggles to shove her groin against him. Then, shockingly, wondrously, the calloused thumb between her legs, fumbling then finding that secret little nub, the crux and fulcrum of her as the sweet cock strokes in and out, the thumb soft but insistent, setting the rhythm until unbelievably, for the first time, ever, she feels the ache deep inside, the yearning and the beginning and the waves starting, the squeezing and bucking and the feel of his cock stroking in and out and she comes in a writhing, spastic almost painful series of contractions – the very first time when actually fucking.

A small secret part of her smiles, now, 20 years later. That first night had done more than provide one of the most mind-blowing physical orgasms she had ever experienced; it had also healed a rift deep within her that had left her feeling inadequate and "unwomanly". Because she had never been able to come before during intercourse, she felt that something essential was lacking within her psyche – leaving her vulnerable and bereft and engendering feelings of inadequacy. She realized then that she wasn't lacking, she just needed some form of direct stimulation.

The rest of that long, hot summer was like a dream. Neither wanted the world to know – not that there was a sense of shame, rather, it was if they were participating in a secret, sweet ritual. Daylight would be an anathema to it, harsh sunlight an abomination. Their assignations took place in the velvet heat of midsummer nights, wrapping warm damp arms around the joyful, passionate coupling of wounded spirits, rocking them in starry nights and deep red orgasms.

He would come, a sweet incubus, a knock on the door at midnight and she, tremulous, eager, arms reaching, the feel of his muscular biceps as she would wrap long strong legs around his waist, the hot hard penis slipping into her warm depths, stroking in and out, its spongy tip teasing and touching, then sinking deep. She would feel his back muscles flexing as he stood, holding her straining buttocks in his hands, her back against the rough planks of the porch as they would fuck standing, her thighs straining and her calves grasping desperately as his legs trembled.

Monique started as the phone rang. With a perceptible tug, she brought herself back to reality. The bottom line was the summer ended as summers do, Raoul arrived home and just like that, without having to explain or justify, it was done. Since that time, she had seen him twice – once when Chris had visited when she had her first child and the last time, just a year ago. Seeing him last year had definitely resurrected some memories and she often felt it was that occasion that engendered the increasingly vivid fantasies she was entertaining so regularly now.

She was critical of herself – her sex life was good, even excellent – time and experience had made her bold and innovative, demanding and even more passionate than when younger. She loved her husband, truly and passionately so why did she keep dreaming of Rick?

She consoled herself with the thought that chances were, she wouldn't even see him. Chris was coming up with a entire calvacade of relatives. All of them were spending a few days with Monique, then together they would visit nephews, sons and assorted grand-nephews – Rick had a very busy and demanding business, the opportunity to see him would be minimal ...

* * *

"You look great."

Rick stood, tall and rangy, arms still muscular, belly flat, hair a bit thinner but the strong, hewn features, touched now with time and experience, were still handsome. The deep piercing eyes were the same too, seeming to look into her soul.

"You too," she replied, thinking how glad she was that she had taken such care with her appearance.

A lifetime aversion to the sun and its impact on her pale Celtic skin was now paying off. A stint with ill health a few years previous had been a wakeup call to change her lifestyle and now, two years later, she was physically in the best shape of her entire life. Yoga had given her strength and long lean muscle while biking had honed her hips and legs.

"You cut your hair," he said. "I never thought I would see that".

She grinned wryly – it had been a huge step cutting her hip length hair after 25 years of wearing the thick, waving strands long and unstyled. Now, a year after she cut it, her natural curls sprang riotously about her face and shoulders, freed from the weight of length and allowed to follow their own boisterous course. Good genetics meant that only the very odd strand of gray appeared, to be ruthlessly snapped out, otherwise her own burnished copper curls remained true.

"It was time" she admitted.

"My ma has an expression, mutton dressed like lamb. I never wore it down anyway because I felt I was too old."

"You look exactly like you did 20 years ago" he said, that devastating wry grin twisting her gut.

The hairs on her arm stood up and she was aware of an energy coursing from her body. It was if invisible tentacles reached out to touch his aura. Shockingly, she felt the strip of cloth between her thighs dampen and she became embarrassingly aware that her sex was swelling. Worse, the dress she wore was pale cream, a tasteful halter that left the long smooth line of her back bare. Her breasts were small but exercise had kept them plump and firm, allowing her to wear a halter without having to resort to specialty bras. Her nipples were a deep flushed rose, with large tips which were very obviously stiff. Like tiny fingers they poked the front of the halter. She hunched her shoulders.

Her eyes met his and her damned pale skin flushed, a hot pink wave of self-consciousness as she saw his eyes flick knowingly to the obvious erectness of her nipples.

"How are your girls," she asked, trying valiantly to ignore her own arousal.

"Good – growing fast," he answered.

For a moment she wondered if he too were aroused and had to physically stop her eyes from moving to his crotch. He was wearing a beautifully cut pair of grey dress pants, snug on his narrow hips and following the lines of his long legs. His shirt was a deep salmon, devastating against the deep tan and clinging to the broad shoulders and flat belly. He had taken off the suit jacket and she was having difficulty keeping her eyes of the broad chest and narrow waist.

They stood in a really lovely garden, enjoying the aftermath of a very lovely wedding. Monique found it hard to believe that a baby she had once held when new, was now married but Chris' nephew had been thrilled to send her an invitation earlier in the year when he found out she lived only a few hours away. The wedding had been held in a wonderful old cabin resort surrounded by Victorian Gardens with various themes. Inside, the majority of the guests bopped to music from the 60s, 70s and up into the new century, but needing some air, she had slipped outside. It was there, breathing deeply the sweet smell of gardenias and roses, that Rick had found her.

She had managed to avoid him through most the ceremony, recognizing in the reaction of her own traitorous body the seeds of destruction and possible humiliation. Not once did she imagine that he might be likewise aroused, lacking some confidence in herself and seeing with what she felt was clear eyes, the absurdity of a mutual attraction flaring up after an absence of 20 years.

"What's back here," he asked, motioning toward the pathway meandering through a tangled archway.

"Not sure" she answered, shrugging.

"Come on, let's have a look" he said, reaching for her hand.

As the warm fingers closed around hers, an electric surge ran up her arm and she felt herself tremble. Controlling herself, she allowed him to tug her through the archway, ducking as a spiderweb brushed gossamer strands against her flushed cheek. The path was tangled and overgrown, barely lit in the deep dusk with muted solar lights set at intervals along the meandering stone walkway. Overgrown, thorny Rose of Sharon tangled and sprang riotously on either side, discouraging exploration.

"This part sure isn't kept up" she said, conscious of the strong fingers still clasping hers.

"Maybe they have let this garden to seed" Rick said, kicking a stone to one side.

She was having a little bit of trouble negotiating the neglected pathway. Wearing her "whore shoes" as she called them, the heels delicate 4 inch spikes, nature hikes were not her forte at the moment. Stumbling, Rick turned and caught her arm, pulling her closer. She stiffened, sure he would feel her heart which was beating erratically and frantically against her chest.

Another archway appeared as they turned a sharp corner and laughing, Rick urged her to hurry. She freed her hand and giving him a push, sprinted ahead, heels and all, her long sleek legs flashing to the thighs as the slit in her dress swung open.

Pushing through she stopped, breath held as she took in the garden.

Forgotten, neglected and untended, the garden was a living organism, alive and riotous, fed and watered through a long wet summer, green and red and blue and orange flowers vying for space, perfuming the air with a confusing, intoxicating medley of scents, bushes overgrown and tangled, flowers heavy and sweet upon their limbs. A pond, its surface littered with lilies and moss, a flash of gold in the desultory movement of its waters as fat koi sipped the insects alighting on its surface.

"It's beautiful!" she said.

There was quiet but she didn't dare turn. Rather, her eyes drank in the scene before, the quiet assaulting her ears. She listened and heard the croak of a bullfrog, the high-pitched whine of a mosquito tangling and dancing in the still air with the staccato rubbing of the cicadas. Distantly, her awareness reached out and heard the echo of sound from the main cabin, its muted tones emphasizing and underlining her solitariness here, in this wild, neglected paradise with Rick.

She closed her eyes and even before she felt it physically, felt him reach out. Light, a butterfly touch on the top of her arm, strong fingers running lightly, so delicately down the almost invisible down of her upper bicep to her wrist, touching and electric. Trembling, she held herself stiffly, afraid and yearning, conflicted and terrified.

Then she felt his other hand, touch so lightly, her right arm. She stood rigid, afraid to move, her nipples stiff and aching and glancing down she saw their stiff peaks clearly delineated in the front of her halter, the deep fiery red of their arousal bleeding through, showing them clear even in the glomming dusk.

She felt his heat, hyper aware of the strong male body which stood now, just behind her and in the sweet heady tangle of scents she smelled his arousal and her own. She moved her thighs slightly, the gusset of her panties sticky and damp, shifting between her thighs, almost surprising a groan from her as it touched the stiff, swollen nub of her clitoris.

Moving released a waft of sweet female arousal into the air. Behind her she almost sensed his nostrils flair as he drank in the smell of her sex, then groaning, his arms encircled and clasped her, pulling her tight against the hard planes of his chest. Against the softness of her ass, she felt the iron bar of his arousal.

His hand tangled and pulled the bronze curls spilling down her neck, and his lips trailed a warm, damp pathway up and around to the sensitive spot just under her ear. His other hand rubbed her flat belly then followed the strong line of her waist to her breasts. Hesitating, feeling as if she would go mad, her breast aching fiercely she pushed into his hand. Spasmodically, his hand closed around the plump orb, his finger feverishly seeking the stiff, aroused nipple. Frustrated, he pinched it sharply through the material of the halter.

A gush of fluid from her swollen cunt actually trickled down the inside of her thighs.

Her hair tumbled against her shoulders as his hands left her breast and neck and suddenly, she felt their warmth against her back. He trailed feverish soft fingers against the side of her rib cage as she surged back against him. Reaching, she took his hand and shoved it under the bottom of the halter and up, up until his bare palm was cupping the swollen, painful swell of her breast. She squeezed his hand tight around her tit.

For a moment he squeezed the soft globe tightly, his fingers flicking the nipple and surprising another groan out of her. Then, releasing the breast, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him.

His lips came down and captured her, his tongue thrusting deeply into the moist recesses of her mouth, plundering and demanding and insinuating, Her hands came up and around the strong shoulders, her hips surging against his, seeking proof of his arousal. Shamelessly, she ground her hips into his, lost in the sensation, lost to any sense of wrong or right, an imperative merely to mate, to join to him, to feel his cock deep within her.

He took the material of the halter and pulled it roughly up. Standing back slightly, his eyes devoured the sight of her quivering swollen breasts, the nipples fiery red and stiff, small thumbs, thick and demanding. Leaning, his lips captured on stiff tip, suckling strongly and making her womb ache and twist deep within her. She clasped the smooth dome of his head close to her breast, pushing it further into the eager mouth.

Unable to wait, her hands fumbled at the straining front of his fly where his erection threatened to burst the stitches. Straightening, releasing the succulent nipple to stiffen in the night air, he allowed her egress to his arousal.

She unbuckled, unbuttoned and zipped, fingers trembling until suddenly, free, his erection sprang out cheekily. She took a deep breath as her eyes devoured it. Larger even than she remembered, the tip circumcised, a mushroom red and deep and spongy, the shaft pale, dotted with stray dark hairs and quivering and eager, thick and moist. Dropping to her knees, she reached for his luscious cock and sank her mouth down onto it.

Oh the taste! Sweet and bitter, sharp and hot, she swallowed convulsively, fighting the gag reflex as she sank his beautiful cock deep into her throat. His groan as she swallowed his stiff erection echoed through the grove. Her fingers toyed with the swollen globes of his testicles as she sucked strongly at the sweet cock, rubbing gently his perineum, cupping and ever so gently squeezing the hairy sacs. Her tongue teased the long vein which ran up the center and she felt him tremble as the tip of his cock dribbled pre-cum into her eager mouth.

His legs trembled as he closed his eyes and pumped into the tight sweet mouth. Deep within, he could just feel the tugging which meant that his sperm was rising. Reaching down, he took her shoulders and almost reluctantly pulled her away. An audible pop as his stiff prick was pulled out of the tight mouth and she gave a mew of discontent.

He pulled her to her feet, his mouth plundering hers, tasting the sharp bitter taste of his own arousal in the moistness of her mouth.

Tensing his thighs, he reached and gathered the firm globes of her small ass into his hands. She tightened her ass and gave a little hop as he pulled her up to his groin, her hands going around his neck pulling herself up. He held her completely now, her long slender legs wrapped around his waist, the stiff spongy tip of his cock seeking her entrance.

Wiggling, she tried to find the right angle. The feel of his prick against her spread open nether parts was literally driving her nuts. He pulled away slightly, looking down between their bodies. He could see his own prick, stiff and rampantly erect, its tip dribbling rivulets of arousal. She was leaning away from him with her upper body, the halter shoved over the quivering mounds of her tits, her belly flat and trembling, her legs spread obscenely wide, the long, slender thighs quivering as they clasped his body. Her cunt was open and spread, the outer lips flushed and pouting, denuded of hair. The inner lips of her cunt were swollen and protruding and even in the gathering dusk he could see the stiff nub of her clit peaking from between.