College Reunion

Author's Note: This story is fiction, but it is based loosely on real events in my life. The names have been changed, of course. This story is the way I've chosen to remember those events, even though they didn't really happen in exactly this way.

* * * * *

According to the signs we passed on I-95, we were passing New Haven. We still had at least two more hours of this trip to go. The van belonged to Harry, my ex, so of course he was driving. Our son Steve was riding up front beside him. I think they were talking about what Steve could expect when we got to Providence, but their conversation was almost drowned out by the van's CD player which was pounding out something by one of Steve's favorite bands.

I was sitting in the van's shorter second row seat. The full bench seat at the back had been lowered into the van's floor to make room for the considerable amount of stuff we had to carry. I was completely surrounded by that stuff. There were suitcases, cartons, bags, lamps, a guitar case, three hockey sticks, and some items I couldn't even identify and didn't remember ever seeing at home. We were carrying everything that Steve considered essential for his first year at college. I suspected that if we got into a collision I might be found in the wreckage fatally impaled on the nasty end of a ski pole, or smothered by green garbage bags stuffed with blankets and towels.

I'd had lots of time in the previous two years to think about what went wrong in my marriage to Harry, but I still couldn't make sense of it all. We had had our differences, some of them intensely fought, but I really had no idea what caused us to simply drift apart and to stop loving each other. The divorce had been the right thing for both of us. I knew that at the time. But despite the fact that the split was amicable and enabled us to remain good friends, it saddened me to think of all that we had lost in the process.

One thing that I had lost out on was years and years of truly great sex.

Harry was the best lover I've ever had. He was probably the best lover I could ever imagine having. I'd had a number of partners before him, and some of them seemed quite good at the time, but Harry was the first one who made it his personal mission to show me how to enjoy sex to the fullest. He brought out in me a need I hadn't even known I possessed, the need to immerse myself in the pleasures that my body could find in physical love. He found that need in me and presented it to me like the precious gift that it was.

Harry had that strange sort of lust that allows men (I've always thought of this as a guy thing) to throw themselves into sex without questioning, even for a moment, the motives behind their rampant desires. Sometimes Harry would make love to me with a level of passionate intensity that stunned me with its beauty, not to mention its level of sheer athleticism (ah, the energy of youth!) and carnal daring (ah, the thrills of exploration and discovery!), and I would strongly suspect that he was reliving a moment earlier in the day when I had caught him enjoying the hint of a smile in the eyes of an attractive female stranger.

It never concerned me that he might be imagining me to be another woman while he was fucking me. I was absolutely confident that he loved me and desired me as much as he could love and desire anyone. I don't think he ever cheated on me during our marriage, at least not in the flesh, but his sexually oriented mind probably brought him numerous other fantasy partners and imagined stolen pleasures that I would never know about. And that bothered me not one bit. In fact, I was secretly grateful that his fleeting mental images of being with some other woman would bring out the best in his already awesome cocksmanship when he was fucking me. As complex and sophisticated as Harry's sexual techniques were, his real sexual needs were simple. He just needed to have good sex with reasonable frequency. No wife with a normal need for sex could ask for more, and I knew that many wives settled for far less.

Even toward the end of our life together, as Harry and I were gradually falling out of love for each other, the sex we occasionally shared was still very good. We both seemed able to set aside our differences, if only for brief periods, and enjoy the pleasures of the moment without the emotional burdens of discarded vows and commitments. Maybe at such moments he thought of me as an attractive stranger (which I suppose in a sense I was), but that possibility was never of any concern to me.

Harry and I had done a pretty good job, first together and then separately but still working as a team, of preparing our son for this milestone in his young life so that he could approach it with appropriate measures of eager enthusiasm and confidence. But we were now in the act of setting him adrift in an almost-adult world over which we would have very little control. We held the purse-strings, but that was about the limit of our clout. And it was going to be very quiet at home without Steve there. I didn't know if I should be crying in joy for Steve or crying in loneliness for myself. Well, I wasn't really crying just then, but I was sure that tears would be part of my day before it was over.

Our van passed a cluster of motels, gathered like predators in ambush around one of the highway's access cloverleafs. The sight of them jolted me from the bittersweet realities of my present life because they brought to mind a vivid memory of an unplanned and unforgettable night Harry and I had spent in a motel room some 19 years ago. I remembered it very well.

* * * * *

In near-blizzard conditions on that night in rural Ontario our car had skidded out of control and then slowly, almost majestically, parked itself more or less permanently in a snowdrift left by the plows on the shoulder of the road. We still had a long way to go to our destination, but apparently our car felt that it had had quite enough for this night. Luckily, we weren't in the middle of nowhere. We were, in fact, less than a hundred yards from the optimistic sign of a motel whose Owner didn't seem to know that cottaging season had ended months before. We bundled ourselves up, trudged down the middle of the deserted road, and woke up the motel Owner who could hardly believe his good luck in getting the business of some crazy city folks who didn't even have the smarts to stay home in weather like this.

Checking into a motel takes no time at all when you have no luggage. And no car. Within minutes we had fallen onto a gorgeously comfortable bed in our underwear. The adrenaline rush of our near-accident was probably still in our veins, and we went for each other as if the motel's sign had read "Last Chance To Fuck Before North Bay" (which would have been tasteless but accurate). Harry had me up against the headboard of the bed right away, ramming into me from behind as if he'd been waiting all day for this chance to relieve a painful erection. At the moment of Harry's triumphant and noisy climax I felt so filled, so overpowered by our mutual lust, that I honestly felt for an instant that we might have just started the process of creating new life within me.

When it was my turn I knelt astride Harry's face and ground my pussy, which still bore some of his tasty cum juices, over his greedy mouth. I tried (unsuccessfully) to force my husband's nose between my flushed and swollen nether lips. Later I spent some time cleaning the area of Harry's anus with my tongue, and it was only my extraordinary horniness that enabled me to complete the task - a task made less pleasant by Harry's very real need for a bath or shower. True love knows no limits. Later I was able to show him what an anus is supposed to smell and taste like by offering him access to mine. When we'd exhausted our repertoire of the positions Harry deemed appropriate to this occasion, and exhausted ourselves in the process, we fell into each other's arms and slept well into the nest morning.

Weeks later I studied the calendar and did the math. I concluded, with the unfounded but absolute certainty of those who feel that the fates have blessed them, that I was right to have sensed the coming conception of our first child in that motel bed on that wintry night in Ontario. Well, why not? When the sex is that good, good things happen.

* * * * *

We passed Old Saybrook, which meant absolutely nothing to me because I wasn't the one with the map. I was mildly ashamed of myself. On this momentous day in the life of my son, who I knew to be the best work of my creative self, I found myself reliving the outrageously salacious acts which resulted in his creation. And I was doing this with the lewd delight of a pornographer. I truly believed that I had sensed my future child's coming almost at the moment of his conception, so I naturally associated the joy I felt about that moment with my wanton behavior on that night.

Not surprisingly, this thought brought a familiar but still unexpected flush of warmth and moistness to my pussy. I made sure that my lower body wasn't visible in Harry's rearview mirror, and I made sure that Steve was thoroughly occupied with tracking our mileage progress on the roadmap. Then I slipped a hand under the waistband of my slacks and fingerfucked myself for about twenty miles. I definitely felt better after that. I licked my fingers clean. I was well past 40, and it pleased me to confirm that I still tasted good.

I studied the backs of the heads of the two most important men in my life. I loved the slightly balding one, if only in the abstract way that shared happy experiences can bond people together, but I loved the other with the fiercely protective love of a mother for her child. I wondered how I could possibly have deserved such blessings.

Events at the campus in Providence went surprisingly smoothly. Some of Steve's future dorm mates helped with the heavy lifting as their way of introducing themselves to him. Steve had been assigned to a coed dorm, something which didn't even exist at Harry's college or at mine. Harry let us all know that he thought of coed living accomodations as a long-overdue improvement in the quality of higher education. Harry and I watched the moving-in process, and the attractive young men and women who were engaged in it (and doing a much better job of it than we would), with twinges of jealousy at not being the ones embarking on the adventure that lay ahead.

A very pretty and pleasingly curvy young woman, who had somehow sheathed herself in what might have been the tightest jeans it is physically possible to walk in, stopped for a moment to say hello to us. It was clearly her way of getting to meet Steve. Harry immediately became blatantly flirtatious with her, and in so doing embarrassed both Steve and me. The girl handled all of this quite gracefully, and she seemed to find Harry's juvenile behavior amusing. I liked her instantly.

I don't know how we got through the protracted and tearful goodbyes that marked the end of our stay. There were long hugs to go with the kisses and whispered endearments and wellwishes, and then Steve was waving goodbye to us as he went off with a couple of newfound friends, and then it was just Harry and me and the long drive home. To my home, that is, where I would try to survive the abnormal quiet of living alone until the Thanksgiving school break in late November. Harry would drop me off at my place and then head off for his. I was a bit ashamed of my private gripes about the length of the trip, because the trip was going to be a lot longer for Harry. I was reminded of how good a man Harry is, and how much I truly like him, and how big a shame it is that I don't love him anymore.

It was late in the day when we headed home, and darkness fell very soon after we got back onto the highway. The drive home went much more quickly for me than the drive to the college did, as the return leg of any round trip always does. Maybe it was partly due to the fact that the van was now a lot lighter, and was now able to reach the cruising speed claimed by its maker. It certainly helped that I was now up in the more comfortable front seat, next to Harry, and not staring down the barrel of a ski pole.

Harry and I talked about old times, the good times. We talked about Steve's early childhood, his school years, his first dates, his more serious girlfriends, and about his emerging manhood. We recalled several now-funny events that seemed so catastrophic at the time they happened, and Harry somehow steered the conversation around to that wintry night when our car chose to stop close to a small town motel up in Ontario. He even gave me a couple of lewd details about that night that I'd forgotten, and it occured to me that he may replay that night in his mind even more often than I do.

At some point I became aware that Harry was flirting with me, and I became aware that I was enjoying it. I flirted back, and when our eyes met I saw that we were both enjoying the harmless game we were playing. Harry let a hand fall casually onto my nearer leg, and I wondered if he felt the shiver that went through me when his hand lingered there longer than I thought it would. Some time later I found myself starting to feel sleepy. I shifted over closer to Harry so that I could lean gently against him as I let my eyes close. My head rested against his shoulder, and just before I dozed off I felt his arm slip along the seat back and around me. I awoke only when Harry shook my arm gently as we arrived at my place.

* * * * *

Harry turned his van into my driveway. I invited him in for a mug of coffee before he had to get back on the road again. He agreed that a bit of refreshment would be good, but he said that the importance of the day's events merited more than just coffee. He produced a bottle of celebratory sparkling wine from the van's glove compartment and suggested that we toast our son's future together. From somewhere else he magically produced two stemmed glasses. He had popped the cork and splashed generous portions into the glasses even before I was awake enough to question the wisdom of making a heady wine the 'one for the road'.

Harry proposed a toast to us, and to our part in making the day's events possible. There in my driveway, in the front seat of Harry's new van, we clinked glasses and drank. Another splash or two from the bottle went into the glasses. Then he proposed a toast to Steve and to Steve's future, and we drank again. Harry poured again. Then he proposed a toast to "that sweet young piece of denim'd ass that was so hot for Steve that she flirted with me just so she could get to him right after we left". I laughed at Harry's absurdly incorrect assessment of the incident, but I drank to her denim'd ass anyway. Harry refilled our glasses.

"You know that I can't let you get back behind the wheel now," I said.

"Oh, shit!" he cried out in mock shock, as if this was something he hadn't though of before. "Do you know what this means? It means I'm going to have to spend the night with you and risk having you beg me to fuck you all night long just for old times' sake!"

We both laughed. And then there was an awkward silence.

"I miss you", he said after a long moment, softly and with a seriousness that caught me completely by surprise. I said nothing in reply, so he hastily added, "Don't get me wrong, hon. I'm not suggesting we give it another try. But I do miss you. I've enjoyed being with you today."

"I miss you too," I said. "It's on days like today that I know how much you care about both Steve and me. Thank you." I tilted my face up to his and pulled his mouth down to mine. I'd always been a sucker for Harry's sweet confessions of emotions it wasn't easy for him to speak about.

His eyes grew wide in surprise. Then he regained his composure, and his innate horniness, and we both sort of lost it. Suddenly our arms were wrapped around each other, and we were kissing each other like crazy. A gutteral growl came directly from Harry's throat into my mouth and his tongue arrived right behind it. I pretty much knew where this was going, but I honestly didn't know how it was going to happen. The back of the van didn't look at all comfortable for lovemaking, and the front seat just didn't provide enough room for the kind of sex we both enjoyed. Apparently Harry had given some thought to the same problem, though. He ended the kiss abruptly, and pushed the driver's side door wide open. I just had time to grab my purse before I felt myself pulled by my ankles along the seat and out that door, where Harry picked me up in his arms. He shoved the van door shut with a bump of his hips and started to carry me toward my front door. We went back to kissing, and I wrapped my legs around his waist to make it easier for him to carry me. His hands were cupped under the roundnesses of my butt cheeks in my pants. His hands felt wonderful. I really did miss him. And I missed this.

We did a little silent comedy slapstick routine at the front door, because Harry didn't want to put me down even for a moment and we had to somehow get my key from my purse and into the doorlock. He rested both of us against the wall beside the door long enough for me to free one hand and find the key. Then he turned both of us around until I could get the key into the lock. The door opened. I expected him to let me down once the door closes behind us, but he didn't. Maybe he was afraid of breaking the spell by letting something get in the way of the flow of the thing. He walked straight ahead, toward my bedroom, still carrying me. I clung to him and kissed him continuously. I think it was because I was completely blocking his view of what was ahead that we bumped into the hallway walls a few times.

What happened in the bedroom is a bit blurred in my memory, thanks to those glasses of sparkling wine that I had drunk too quickly. The wine had no apparent effect on Harry's virility, however, and I remember that he made love to me powerfully and passionately for at least two full hours. He took me when I was on my back, he took me when I was on my knees, he took me when I was on my side spooned into him, and he even took me when I was in a position where I could fool myself into thinking that I was taking him. He took my mouth, my pussy, my asshole, and the snug places under my arms and between my breasts. He made love to every part of me, and my entire body tingled from the stimulation of his hands and fingers and lips and tongue and teeth I know that he came more than once, and I know that I came and came and came some more. When our frantic coupling finally slowed and ended, we were both totally spent and totally satisfied. We slept together, for the first time in more than two years.

I woke first, and sucked his cock to erection as he gradually woke up. He smiled down at me and pulled me up into his arms to kiss his precum from my lips. I returned to my oral ministrations to his lovely cock. He lay still and held my head in place for a minute or two, and then he moved under me so that we could assume the classic sixty-nine position with me on top. We each had one final orgasm, and then it was time for him to go.

I gave him the mug of hot coffee that I'd been prevented from giving him the night before, and I filled a small thermos of the stuff to take with him on the morning drive. We kissed goodbye at my front door.

"I'll see you at Thanksgiving when Steve is here, won't I?" I asked.

"You bet," he grinned. "No one stuffs a turkey like you do."

"And no one stuffs me like you do," I said. I was laughing, but he knew that I was telling him the truth.

"I don't think that'll happen when Steve's around," laughed Harry.

"Don't be so sure," I said. "They don't call it Thanksgiving for nothing."