A Summer Beginning

Describing an orgasm is like describing a color to a man, born without vision. It is like combining the pins and needles feeling you get when your arm falls asleep with a sneeze. Mix in a splash of blinding pleasure and you're close.

When it was over, a euphoria washed over me and filled me with the overwhelming sense that all was right with the world. As I lay there, buried to the hit in the most beautiful woman ever created, I listened to the sounds of birds chirping and bees buzzing and wondered if that was where the name came from.

A car drove past us and drew my attention to the still present guard rail. I could see mile marker 53 sticking up above the rail and I decided right then that my favorite number would forever be 53.

When Sarah started to cry it brought me back to the world. At that time in my life there was only one kind of tear that could be shed. So Sarah's tears, in my mind could only mean one thing.

"Are you okay?"

It was a stupid question but it was all I could think to ask. I know now that it was, what the French call "la petite mort" or the little death. Scientists call it a release of oxytocin. Poets call it transcendence. I called it weird that she started crying, but I know better now.

Fortunately for me, she forgave my ignorance and just nodded. She quietly sobbed for a little while and then drifted off to sleep with me still buried deep inside her. For the next few hours I held her as we drifted, gently napping in the late day heat.

The rest of that trip ended up being an odyssey into sex for Sarah and Tris. One morning the two of them woke me up with a sanity rending blow job which opened the door to a threesome in the woods later that day. We did some wild things on that trip, but nothing the three of us did ever equaled my experience with Sarah that day.

Author's Note:

I had the good sense to keep Sarah close and after she graduated college, I married her. She never did give up on me

Tris continued to come over for many years to share in our adventures. She eventually took a job overseas and moved permanently. She still writes.

We buried Lisa next to her beloved husband about ten years ago. She never did suspect what I did to her daughter on the trip she paid me to take. Or maybe I should say, what her daughter did to me.

Sarah was and always will be my hero. She got me through the hardest summers of my life and continued to teach me how to be a better person until cancer took her from me three years ago this day. As a testament to the beautiful person she was, more than three thousand people attended her service. It was standing room only and they brought out speakers for the people outside.

I buried her next to her mother and father on a hill overlooking the river on our ranch. Now I take a trip every summer to watch kids raft down that river as I think of her. A fist full of pretzels in one hand and a beer in the other.

In the years we were together she taught me the many different kinds of tears that can be cried by a man. She also taught me that the most powerful tears are those cried when you're in a love that couldn't be more perfect.

Although her final words are for my ears alone, one of the last things she told me was that she knew how much I loved her. No kinder words have ever been spoken.

We both looked back fondly on that summer and I count the days until I can be laid next to her on our hill overlooking the river.

No man has ever loved a woman more than I love you, Sarah.