Yvonne Pt. 04

'Shall I add my waters to the river?'

As I was saying 'yes' a stream of urine began to dribble from her cunt. The flow strengthened and steadied and I watched as if hypnotized by the sight of her golden thread as it glinted in the light and joined her to the river. The only sound I could hear was the soft rushing sound it made as it hit the surface of the water and merged with the river. She continued to piss for more than a minute. It made me hard again.

When she was finished she rubbed herself softly with her hand and then raised her fingers to her lips and softly licked them clean. Then she squatted down in the water, as if to wash herself.

'Do you want to go?' she asked.

'Yes,' I said.

'On my tits. I want your warm water over my tits.'

I stood and stepped into the water. She was still squatting down and I stood over her and took aim. My cock pointed at her boobs as they sagged softly down towards her stomach and beyond towards the water.

It came and I aimed for her cleavage. She let out a little yelp as the first splashes of my piss hit her skin. Her hands held her tits upwards to catch the flow and she sighed. I moved my cock slowly form side to side to ensure that both of her titties got a nice shower. She purred as the hot yellow rain cascaded over her, running over her titties and falling down into the water around her.

'Rain on momma's tits,' she said, 'wash momma's titties.'

My flow subsided and she laughed and threw herself back into the water, and lying on the bottom she was submerged. I sat down too and then let myself fall backwards. The cool water washed away her juices from my cock. I wished they could have stayed there, but it was better to lose them to the river than to the shower or the bath at home.

That afternoon was the highest of highs. In a year and a half of sexual intensity and erotic exploration, of which so many afternoons are beyond forgetting, that afternoon in the woods and the river was the greatest of our moments.

The following week I went to see her and I took the photographs with me. Looking at them together was almost as good as taking them had been and we had to put them aside and get started before we had looked through them all.

I was troubled in my mind though, and this time it was her turn to ask me what was wrong. It had been in my mind since before her birthday, and now I couldn't delay it anymore. I had to decide, and I knew what I was going to decide and I had been dreading telling her and not admitting it to myself.

'I have an offer to study abroad for three years.'

'And you want to go, but you don't want to lose this.'

'I don't want to lose you.'

If it was a declaration of love, so didn't censure me for making it.

'You have to go,' she said, 'it will make your career.'

'Yes, I know.'

'And one day, you'll get married and have children and all the rest; that's what people do, and you won't have the time to sneak off and screw an old woman like me; you won't even want to.'

'I think I will,' I said.

'We always knew that it was not forever. Lives get in the way of pleasures. That's how it is.'

'I know, but it doesn't make it any easier. I don't want to lose this; you ...'

'Nor do I; but this isn't the end. You'll be back; holidays, and I'll come to you. I'll find a way; a holiday with a girlfriend. That'll be easy.'

Before I left, we looked at the photographs again.

From that day until I left a month later when I had to go, we saw each other as much as we could. On the last afternoon, we tried to pretend it was jus another afternoon, but it wasn't and the sex was different; it was soft and loving.

And then I went.

We did see each other, during the first year. I visited twice and she came to visit me and stayed for a week. They were idylls and we were falling in love; or we were no longer pretending that there wasn't love, as well as desire, between us.

That was what killed it though. A month or so after I returned from my summer trip, I received a letter from her.

Dear Stephen

I never wanted it to come to this, but we both know that it has, and we both know that this means we have to stop. Maybe one day I will see you again, but not now. Don't reply. Remember me.

Yvonne

I had been expecting it, and she was right.

I told myself that I would do as she asked. I didn't reply. I couldn't have forgotten her even if I had wanted to, and I thought that I would never see her again. I had the photographs though.

It was not the last time I saw her, but eleven years passed before I saw her again.