Francesca

She kicked back and did a few strokes on her back, her breasts marvelously buoyant, perfectly visible to me in that clear salty water. We bobbed together for a moment; Francesca smiled at me, at my expression no doubt.

"Feels free," she said finally. "That's why I like it out here, nobody bothering you, no college kids getting stewed and cranking their radios. ...Being idiots."

She rolled over in the water and swam out a bit deeper, the bikini top trailing in her wake.

Again, I was caught so off guard as to be speechless. I bobbed silently, my toes bouncing off the hard-packed sand.

"Wanna try it?" Francesca asked with a devilish grin, her chin just above the water.

I heard myself giggle nervously; the beach was for the most part empty, with small clutches of bathers ranged every couple hundred yards or so.

Francesca came back in my direction with a breast stroke—how apt—circling behind me, one hand up on my shoulder, the other deftly undoing my top. I clutched it without thinking; a gentle insistence as she floated in front of me and pulled it free of my body.

"Now don't tell my sister about this or I'll get murdered," she chuckled, drifting back from me with the top still trailing in her hand.

"Swim," she urged finally, as if amused by the way I just drifted there, hands cupping my small tits. I glanced about a final time, reassuring myself that no one could see, and then started to paddle. It felt great, free just like she'd said. Years later I sat in a darkened theatre watching Kate Winslet skinny-dip and experienced my Proust moment, a visceral recall of salt water and Francesca's touch, that fleeting look she gave as I swam up to her in the Gulf of Mexico, our fluttering legs brushing, our bodies so close...

"Feels great," I whispered.

"It does," came her answer, her expression clouding as she reached out to brush my cheek. She seemed to be looking for an answer that wasn't there. "I love you more than you know, Lenore," she said with a wan smile, whirling away from me diving completely out of sight. It was a moment that has stood fixed in my mind ever since, suddenly alone out there, the water choppy and cold, people far down the beach with no idea of what I felt.

"Race you," Francesca's voice came, bursting to the surface maybe forty feet away, waving me forward, her demeanor changed as if by force of will.

"You had everybody's eyes with that dress," Francesca said as we settled into her parlor.

It was later that evening, the beach trip a dreamy memory, dinner at a steakhouse where the wine list was so expansive that they brought it tableside on a pedestal. I'd worn my new dress; Francesca a sleeveless white blouse and a bright pair of Capri's. We'd shared a porterhouse, which Francesca had insisted on being rare. She arranged a tour of the wine cellar for me, even though I couldn't drink what I was looking at.

I settled onto the couch, straightening my dress, fussing with the pleats.

"You have a good time today?"

"Yes," I responded, eager for her to come back from the kitchen.

"You want a taste?" she asked, stepping into the room with the half bottle of Pinot Noir she'd taken home from the restaurant, two bulbous glasses in her opposite hand.

I nodded tentatively, intent as she poured a half glass for each of us, following her lead as she swirled the reddish liquid, seeing the legs as it rolled, ducking my nose beneath the rim for that first, wonderful whiff.

"Salutѐ"

"Salute," I toasted back, missing the natural phrasing, chinking our glasses together, tasting that first sip.

"Good?"

I nodded, lifting the glass once more to my lips, savoring the feel of the wine in my mouth, the warm afterglow as I swallowed.

"Today was terrific," Francesca whispered, as if introducing me to some dark conspiracy.

I smiled and enjoyed that sudden light feeling in my head.

"You don't know how beautiful you are," she went on, still in that hushed, intimate tone.

We sat in complete silence for a minute or so. I felt a blush rise on my cheeks, no doubt fostered by several sips of that good wine. I knew something was about to happen, something I was unsure of, a parched thirst that I wanted sated.

"You are."

"No I'm not," I stammered, shaking my head.

"You are. You just haven't realized it yet."

"I'm..."

Francesca put her wine down and took my hand, her touch expressive and wonderfully gentle. She looked into my palm as if a gypsy would see something there, some clue she desperately needed.

"You haven't been with anybody yet, have you?" she asked, still staring at the deeply etched lines of life and love and death.

I couldn't answer, I felt close, as if the room didn't have any air left.

"It's okay, don't be scared," she said, meeting my widened eyes with her own, again reaching out to brush my cheek. Wordlessly, she took the wineglass from my trembling grip and set it aside, hesitating, and then leaning in to kiss my cheek, her lips just brushing my skin, so lightly that I wasn't sure if it was a real touch.

Then she tilted her head and brought her lips softly to my own. I didn't move, didn't kiss her back, but didn't pull away either. It was the first kiss like that I'd ever really had. My eyes were open, fixed on hers. I was scared, scared of what was happening, of what was about to happen.

Francesca leaned in and kissed me again, deeply this time, her lips pressed to mine, my eyes drifting shut, relaxing with it, opening my mouth just a fraction, feeling the fleeting hint of tongue, her fingers trailing sensuously along my face, down my throat.

"Do you want to undress me," she asked, pulling away just enough to sound the words, letting her fingers trace down across my bare shoulders, toying with the thin straps of my dress.

She stood up without my answer, taking my hands and drawing me shakily to my feet.

"I want you to," she whispered softly, lifting my right hand to her lips, kissing it seductively, nibbling the tender flesh of my wrist, her breath warm and scented of the wine.

"I..."

Francesca pressed my hand to the top button of her blouse, letting her arms sink to her sides, offering herself to me in as frank a manner as one could do such a thing.

I don't know why, but I felt like crying as I undid that first button, then another, then the next. The blood was surging inside my skull, my breathing labored and urgent. I saw goose bumps rise on my forearms as I unbuttoned the blouse to her waistline and started to tug it free.

"Take your time, baby," she whispered, brushing my hands in a calming fashion.

All I knew was that I wanted her bare, I wanted to touch her. Any restraints of hesitancy had vanished in those few seconds. I guided the blouse free and draped it back across her shoulders, a rustle as it fell to the floor at her feet. Francesca reached behind and slowly unfastened her brassiere, the straps relaxing with the heaviness of her breasts, pausing for me to lift it away.

The bra slid free with barely an effort. Her breasts were a wonder to me. She seemed pleased, as if perfectly proud of them, maybe just savoring my evident enthusiasm to her nakedness.

She pulled into me, kissing me again, my arms wrapping around her, the shocking sensation of bare flesh under my fingers for the first time.

"Make me naked," she whispered breathlessly.

I was past all shyness now. I didn't need any real urging. The top button on the Capri's snapped loose, then the zipper drawing down, me bending before her, pulling them down along her thighs, helping as she stepped out of them. I reached up and drew her panties down, again helping her step free of them, her legs smooth and powerful. I straightened up, surveying what I'd wrought, letting her take my hand and silently lead me into her bedroom.

"Undress for me," she said as we entered the dimly lit room. I thought she'd want to do it for me, like I'd just done for her, but she simply stepped back and waited, radiant in her nudity.

I swallowed hard, feeling so off my balance here. Francesca just smiled, chewing down on her lower lip in anticipation. I stepped free of my pumps, slipping the spaghetti straps off my shoulders one at a time. A feeling of calmness and trust came over me as I carefully peeled the dress down along my body, standing there for a long moment before gliding my plain white briefs down to my ankles.

Then I was in her arms, kissing her, our bodies intertwined and afire. Francesca eased me back onto her bed, mounting me as I hitched backward onto the center of her mattress, our mouths glued together with a maddening passion. I closed my eyes to her touch, that exquisite sensation of hands roaming freely over my heretofore untouched skin, her mouth tracing down to my modest little buds, just the feathering of her lips at first, then the tickling thrill of her taking a nipple into her mouth, sucking it tenderly, moving to the other one, sucking it, looking up to see my reaction as she softly bit and tugged it, eyelids fluttering as she seemingly sucked the entire tit into her mouth.

"Kiss them," she whispered ardently, lifting up off me, presenting her full breasts to me. I lifted my head and did just that, kissing one then the next, caressing them with my left hand, trying to do it like she'd just done to me, getting bolder as I went, her nipples thick and spongy, wonderful against my tongue as I suckled them.

"Oh, God..." Francesca muttered, lolling her head back, stiffening as I continued to fondle her, her breathing coarsened. "...I got to do you."

She moved down my long body with a lustful deliberateness, using her lips against my inner thighs as she spread my legs. I was still hiked up on my elbows, watching as she circled in on me, the first brush of her tongue—I was very wet—a deeper probing, saliva slicking me even more, an expert flick, then another that literally drew the air from my lungs, Francesca's eyes closed to mere slits, her face buried in my mound, the receptors in my braid crackling, her tongue roiling on...

I screamed as the orgasm hit out of nowhere, a blinding firecracker exploding from the base of my spine, arching my back up from the mattress, fistfuls of sheet the only thing seemingly holding me to earth. I was coming in waves, one after the next, Francesca gripping into my hips, keeping at me frantically, the ebbing between not enough to even catch my breath. I reached down to push her away at one point, but she shrugged off the touch, increasing the intensity of her ministrations, another furious climax building within me, a ragged moan as I thrashed about as if possessed, coming, coming, coming...

And then it was done; finished. I was lying there shivering, my vision hazy and unfocused. I listened to the sound of my own breath and a delicious smile slipped my lips.

"I love how you come, baby" Francesca whispered admiringly, her mouth glistening, eyes very bright.

She was up alongside me, stroking my forehead, snuggling to peck my cheek. I rolled onto my side and kissed her, tasting myself on her mouth. I had tears in my eyes and started to wipe them away, only to have her stop me.

"I love you so much," she went on.

Instinctively I kissed her again and started to roll her over, again to be drawn short.

"I want to be on top," she announced. "Okay?"

I nodded, in my innocence not really registering what she meant.

Francesca pressed me back onto her bed and kissed me deeply, lifting up on her knees, positioning herself up over my head and taking a firm grip on the antique brass headboard. She silently met my eyes as she lowered herself onto my face.

"Just be easy," she said, lifting her head up towards the ceiling and waiting.

Her bush was dark and luxuriant, a perfectly symmetrical triangle, beads of moisture clinging like dew. I let my hands roam up along the smooth globes of her ass and drew her down that final inch or so, my tongue tracing the sodden crevice of her sex, wetting it with my saliva, exploring.

Francesca's labial folds were dark and heavy, an audible whooshing as I licked deeper into the silken depths of her pussy, a briny taste that I instantly loved, feeling the definition of her pubic bone on my face, swirling my tongue, discovering that delicate little nub. No teasing, just going right down on it, seeing her immediately start to respond, sinking more weight onto me, her head swaying from side to side, her breathing quickened.

"I'm gonna come," she moaned after another minute or so, and then she was grinding against my mouth, digging in with her pelvis, moaning louder and louder, gyrating down on me as the climax hit. I felt the heat coming off her, saw her gripping the headboard, her tits bouncing as she started a frenzied humping, driving down on me like a machine, a slippery wetness sloshing into my mouth, running down along my cheeks.

"Oh my God! Oh, suck it, suck my cunt. Suck my cunt, baby. ...God, God, God...aghhhh...

I squeezed her ass hard, sucking on her clit, the cords of her neck taut and quivering, the muscles along her lower abdomen rippling.

She lifted up off me, struggling for a moment against my attempt to hold her in. Her thighs were drenched, her hamstrings aflutter, the storm subsiding.

I watched as she slipped down beside me, obviously trying to steady things a bit.

"...Look at you," she said with affectionate amusement, stroking at my glistening cheek. "I guess "I'm a gusher. Your lip's bleeding."

I tasted the fresh blood, realizing that she'd ground my inner lip against my braces.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, obviously concerned.

I shook my head and smiled.

"That was so... "

"Thank you," I said without even thinking about it.

"Thank You, Lenore," she whispered back, our noses touching as we snuggled to one another.

"I love you."

"And I love you, baby" she sighed. "And I always will."

How do you talk about someone who changed your life? I ask that question now, because that is exactly what Francesca did for me that night.

I loved Francesca long before that long ago night. I loved her as I dozed safely in her arms after our first lovemaking, the sweet murmur of her voice seeping down into my dreams. And I love her still; love her like no other person alive, save my own kids.

A chasm of time has opened between then and now, and time is a most unforgiving companion. I see the wages it demands etched deeper into my face every year. I see the same, deeper lines in my aunt's face and grow afraid.

I live in northern California today, married to a good man for going on nineteen years now. I have three children, two girls and a boy. I find every day interesting and look at each virgin sunrise as a great gift. I live my life and don't let my life live me.

That is what I got from Francesca, even though I couldn't put into words why that is so. I just know it to be true. I was one person flying to Florida eleven days; a far different one coming back, aching at our separation as the plane lifted from the runway.

Francesca still lives in Florida, a successful real estate broker now, living what she half-mockingly terms the good life; a dazzling home in Boca Raton, a Jaguar convertible in the drive. She is still a strikingly beautiful woman, her hair still stylish but turned a steel-gray, her luxuriant bush waxed smooth. And of course that wondrous set of tits are not what they once were, the immutable laws of gravity giving them a zenith and an inevitable decline; or in my aunt's own choice phrasing, "tits are temporary, suck it up and hope you got a couple good pictures of 'em."

She is single yet, a bevy of lovers over the years, both male and female; something she has always been quite open with me about. She remains an integral part of this puzzle which is my life. Godmother to both my girls, an enlivening fixture at my home for every holiday.

And yes, she is still my lover. I have no hesitancy in sharing this fact, no compunctions of guilt over the fact that I occasionally share her bed to my husband's ignorance. I'm careful with it, respectful in my discretion.

We travel together at least once a year these days, a vacation somewhere usually foreign, a "girl's thing" as Jack would say. That and I usually make time to visit her in the depths of winter, a few days to ourselves, always surprised at how that feverish passion rekindles as we come together.

And that is it really, nothing more to add. I think back often to that time, the first sight of her nude body, my mouth buried in the mossy depths of her pussy, her broodingly beautiful face lost in pleasure. That feeling you have when you first get another person off changes everything for a person, especially when you deeply love them. I've had that experience only a few times in my life, Francesca and Jack and maybe one or two others, a consuming need, a passion at last satisfied.

I have a photograph of the two of us from that trip, Francesca and I having lunch at a small café. A bright ceramic frame of seashells and small birds that seems lost amid a table cluttered with family photographs. We smile for the camera and seem to hold a mutual secret, a secret shared only by sexed couples. I look at that often, the secret still ours. Still so much in love with her after all these years.

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