Autograph

"I will not lie to you, either. You were truly amazing. Magnificent," I told her. "Thank you for allowing me this honor. I never will forget this day—or you."

"You'd better not," she said, then for the first time laughed. When I was ready again, she took me into her mouth, another experience I will never forget. How any of the boys on campus considered her a pariah is a mystery impossible to explain.

Dropping her back at the bookstore, her tongue searched for mine. Could she still taste herself on me? Her taste still remained on my tongue. "Will you come back to Athens?"

"Someday. It's not on my itinerary this year."

"I worked in a small, independent bookstore downtown one summer. I know the owners would love to have you do a reading there."

"I'm booked up for two months. Tell you what: set it up after that, and I will be here."

"Will you see me then?"

"If not for my schedule across Texas, Arizona and California for the next two months, I would prefer not to wait that long."

After screwing my way across the southwest and up the coast of California, I made my way back through the heartland. There the women were just as rabid fans, but pickings were slim. Several times during my travels, not even the mature charms of the fans I met could wipe away the sweet memories of Virginia.

I looked forward to stopping in New Orleans, my last before returning to Athens for the event Virginia set up there. New Orleans never disappoints. Is it possible for that city's men to neglect their wives more than in most other cities?

I recognized her the moment she stepped inside the door a couple of minutes into my presentation. Management had set out forty seats, and she had to sidestep to the middle of the third row to find one. Even from this distance, her eyes shone like the finest emeralds, and she gave me a wink once settled. After many questions, none of them hers, we adjourned to the table set up for the signing line. I went straight to her.

"Syndi Willingham, how the devil are you?"

"Wonderful! And I enjoyed the presentation."

"Thank you. Look, I have so many questions, but management will start screaming if I don't start signing soon."

"What are you doing after? My whole day is day free. Today's a school holiday. Oh, I am a teacher. High school English."

In this room full of possibilities, none of them mattered anymore. Everyone has that one who got away. Syndi is mine. We began dating during our sophomore year in college. A mad, passionate, tempestuous relationship that somehow lasted until a month before graduation. Then a stupid fight about god-knows-what at a party, fueled by beer and jealousy ended it. After that, I refused to take her calls and she hung up on mine. In the years since, our paths never crossed.

Recently, nostalgia had set in, and no wonder. When we dated, Sydney easily was the most beautiful woman I ever met, let alone slept with. Remarkably little had changed in the twenty years since.

A wine bar she knew was within walking distance. She still drank rosé. We spat out our lives in short bursts. Married a couple of years after college. Three kids, one each in middle school, high school and college. Separated a year ago, her husband's idea. She agreed with my assessment that he must be an imbecile.

"Well, I am no longer in my twenties. A few more pounds. Kids have a way of doing that. His new one is twenty-seven."

"You are worth three twenty-seven-year-olds and a player to be named later." After all these years, still the same smile. Heck, everything still the same. Same soft voice. A few small creases at the corners of her eyes, hair now lighter blonde, less strawberry, and no longer a hundred and five pounds. One-twenty tops.

But those eyes of ethereal green, a color capable of destroying a soul, those remained unchanged. She followed my career, devouring each book. Conversation flowed as comfortably then as it had during one of our relationship's good phases. Sometime during our second glass, I knew. So did she. Whether our familiarity, regret over how it ended, a bond neither time nor experience could ever break, or maybe because nothing had dimmed our attraction.

Nothing needed to be spoken. All I said was, "Let's get out of here."

"It's your lucky night," she informed me in the parking lot. "The kids are with their dad this week. I suppose your hotel is close."

Indeed it was. And as much as I desired to defile her marital bed, the long drive to the suburbs meant a half-hour less reliving my fondest college memories. We drank Hurricanes walking arm in arm as she pointed out the sights along the way, laughing again when registering as Mr. & Mrs. Reunion, complete with French accent.

Before the door swung closed behind us, I had her pinned to the wall. Her endearing way of kissing, sweetly to disguise her true intent, the kind you cannot forget, that also had not changed. Her body had changed over the years—mine, too, I suppose—pleasantly and still felt as familiar as her scent. Breasts still firm and slightly fuller overflowed my hand, a little more ass, just enough. I tore at her clothes, eager to see, touch and kiss.

"I had three children," she whispered, her emerald gaze catching me. "Some things have changed."

"My six-pack is gone. I hope you aren't disappointed."

With a smile, she said, "This must be how a deer feels when taken by a wolf."

"True. But prey does not enjoy being devoured the way you will." That promise I made good on. Savoring those breasts, nipples still pale but now with mature points large enough to roll on my tongue, watching then bounce when I literally threw her onto the bed to her delighted squeal.

Two buttons popped off my shirt when she pulled it off. Her skirt slipped slowly over hips widened by children but still silky smooth, each inch kissed as I exposed it. Unable to hold her anticipation any longer, she began pushing my head down toward the most beautiful gem of my youth, but I continued teasing, leaving lace panties in place while kissing and caressing those thighs. Her essence still a familiar scent, her warmth on my cheeks, nose and chin as I teased, her panties already moist.

And just the way I uncovered her jewel that first time decades before, I pulled down her panties in my teeth.

The blonde bush that haunted sleepless night lay before me again. Its color unique—light blonde, but with a tint to it. A pinkish, almost flesh tone that disappeared with distance or candlelight, wild and still untamed.

"Thank god you never trimmed this." The words escaped aloud as my nose ran across her silk, my lips loosely brushing her labia.

"Not for years," she answered, then prodded me with heels in my back. I feasted upon her, slow, fast, frenzied in turn, then slowed again. Tasting the warm, bitter sweetness that had once been lost forever, resolving not to stop until she begged me to, feeling and hearing her in ecstasy so many times I lost count. If not for my tongue giving out and her fingers pulling on my ears, I might have stayed there forever.

Remembering how she did not like her juices on my face, I stopped on the way to suckle again on her breasts.

I penetrated her while staring into those eyes. A belly unscarred by caesarian section made me wonder if she had adopted. Women feel different after giving birth, but not her. Maybe it was all in my imagination. Before I came, she rolled atop me without letting me slip out of her, my hands holding hips moving with a familiar rhythm.

Perfect orbs swayed hypnotically, then slapped when she felt me tightening and shooting inside of her. Still she straddled me, hands on my chest so her arms pushed her breasts together until I shrank from her. Together we laughed in joy.

We made love until dinner, then almost until dawn with a few breaks for laughter, wine and reminiscences. A quick voice mail message to her principal reporting a fever of over a hundred and she had the day off. Her head lay on my chest, one leg draped over mine as she drifted off to sleep

After washing each other's bodies in the shower in the morning, she shook my world to its core. "We had a baby."

"We what? How?"

"When we broke up, I was pregnant."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You forget that you hated me then, almost as much as I hated you. Even worse, I had this terrible fear that you would deny it was yours. That would have killed me. And it could not have been anyone else's. I know what you thought, but I hadn't been with anyone else."

Dizzy and not knowing what else to do, I took both hands in mine. Seconds passed until I could speak. "Do we have a son or a daughter?"

"A daughter. You'd be so proud of her. She's smart, a deep-thinker with a true old soul. She's a junior at UGA. And beautiful with the most amazing red hair you've ever seen. Sorry, you're probably wondering her name. I never planned how to tell you this. I know it's a shock. I named her after my grandmother. I hope you like it. Her name is Virginia...."

I felt myself falling. I have no idea what she said for a while, but I forced the corners of my mouth into what hopefully resembled a smile. A few minutes ago, for the first time since my second divorce I began contemplating having a true relationship; now having learned I had a daughter, and that I fucked her, I only wanted to run away, so fast and so far that I'd never be seen again. Not only that, but the last two months I dreamed of little more than tomorrow, when I would fuck her again.

The image of that scarlet bush at the tip of my nose played over and over, a delicious memory now tainted, impossible to cleanse from my mind. I felt like throwing up.

#

"When did you know?" I waited to ask Virginia in person, partly because I could not imagine that conversation over the phone, partly because I could not dial her number. I did not have to tell her what I had learned.

"How did you find out?"

"I spent Wednesday night with your mother. My last stop was New Orleans."

Trying to hide her shock, she failed. "You said you were going to California and Texas. You never mentioned...."

"I'm not going to be lectured for withholding information by the person who forgot to tell me that I was screwing my...." Looking around the parking lot of the Thai restaurant where we met, I caught myself. "Fuck! Where can we get some privacy!"

I practically shoved her into my car, hoping no one reported a kidnapping. Following her directions, we drove in silence to a park along the river, a place where she came to read.

"That cannot happen again."

"I know," she answered, crying. Her tears melted my anger and humiliation. I held my daughter's face to my chest. She softly kissed my neck; I did not stop her. "I was your lover before I was your daughter."

"Depends how you look at it." Her lips and tongue on my neck began to stir me. I pushed her away. "We can't."

"I already have a father. I never knew he wasn't my real father until I was twelve. That's when I started reading the books on the bookcase in my mom's bedroom. I don't need another father; I need a lover."

"We can't."

"We can."

We did.

Lying next to her, sweaty and exhausted, panic hit. "Please tell me you are on the pill."

"Of course. I have no intention of having my boyfriend's grandchild." Later, she asked, "Do you love my mother?"

"Yes," I admitted.

Then she laughed, loud and deeply. My eyes moved from her face, so beautiful when she laughed, down to breasts shaking when she did. "That's so fucked up."

"That's putting it mildly."

"Do you love me?"

What choice did I have? "Yes."

"Will you write about this?"

"That would really be fucked up."

"And hot," she said, rolling over me with a kiss.

© de Vere Literary, LLC, 2020