Sydney Buckner. No kidding.

"Hrrrrhhhggg..."

The sound that came out of me was pained and Sydney looked at me with concern.

"Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

I couldn't say anything for a moment, the consequence of my heart and mind still racing, my body still processing what had happened.

"No," I responded when able, "you did nothing wrong. Nothing at all. It's just been a really long time."

She grabbed a couple of tissues from the nightstand and wiped her face in exaggerated fashion, making a point to jokingly make me feel bad for her inconvenience, and then wiped the remainder of the evidence off of me.

"You have little bits of tissue stuck to you," she laughed. "It was too sticky for them, I guess."

"One way to take care of that," I responded, regaining some energy, and pulled both of us off the bed and into a hot, relaxing shower.

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We didn't have intercourse that night... nor the next or the next. Though we saw each other almost every day and had trouble keeping our hands off of each other, I am still confident in saying that we took things slowly. Instead of penetrative sex, we fooled around and continued to get to know our mate.

Their body.

Their sweet spots.

The experience of just being with another person intimately.

For me, it felt like being a teenager again. We got so much out of just being with one another that we didn't need to push for anything more.

And, in the meantime, over the course of weeks in the fall, our oral and manual skills just got that much better.

Sydney learned about the joys of multiple orgasms and different erogenous zones of her body.

I learned about a single, extremely powerful one after prolonged edging.

I loved that it was in no way one-sided. I loved that as much as I was helping her, she was helping me. The entire situation was just so perfect and I couldn't have asked for more when it came to "getting back out there."

It was too good to be true.

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It was mid-November when we had a blowup.

I suppose things were brewing after a few weeks of bickering and disagreements. Most of it was little minutia, some of it was a bit more significant. The fun and enjoyment of the physical side of things pushed us past most of the issues that we came across, but it was also obvious there were underlying differences that would be an issue long term.

It's possible Sydney's breaking point was my upsetting her by telling her I would not go out to bars with her and her friends on Halloween, claiming it was a young-person's activity that she should stick with other people her age.

When I asked her if she wanted to join me in traveling to Katrina's house to spend Thanksgiving with me and my family she shot me down immediately. She said that was something that was reserved for spouses and significant others, not the lonely orphan from the neighborhood and that she didn't appreciate the pity.

I didn't know how to make things right between us. I thought about when my wife and I would fight and we always fell back to the fact that we loved each other and were committed to being together. While I think Sydney and I both loved each other to a certain extent, we were most certainly not committed to each other, having vowed the exact opposite.

"Maybe this entire thing was a bad idea," Sydney said to me by text.

I didn't know how to respond and our communication went dead.

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It was the second week in January and we were being hit with a blizzard. It was predicted that enough snow would be dropped that a multi-day travel ban would be going into effect and, of course, the associated regional social panic went into effect.

Grocery store shelves were stripped bare by buyers who already had full refrigerators and pantries.

Hardware stores sold out of shovels, generators and snow blowers.

Climate change and other "establishment" deniers went to social media to decry the downfall of civilization and to warn their bubble of followers that it was all a hoax designed to control the population.

Maybe it was that I had enough life experience not to worry. Maybe it was that I only had to deal with myself. Maybe it was just blissful ignorance, but I was sitting in my office and doing some work - more excited than worried about the storm - when my doorbell rang.

Sydney was at the door.

She walked in without me inviting her, a billow of snow behind her, carrying a small duffel bag.

"I can't leave town because of work, even though it is possible I won't even be able to get to work if the weather is still shitty enough. My grandparents are flipping out about me being alone but I told them I would stay with someone. At first I was just going to stay home anyway but, like, it really is bad out there."

We stood in silence for a bit. I was so surprised to see her, after weeks of no communication, that I just stared at her standing there for a heartbeat-and-a-half, cold and flustered, looking for help.

"I'm glad you came here," I said, reaching for her bag. She dropped the bag on the floor before I could get it and stepped into me for a hug. I wrapped her up instinctually, holding her tight. "You're freezing."

"There's a blizzard outside," she replied, not letting go of me.

We hugged for a bit longer, soaking in the physical contact that we had both been missing.

"I've missed you," I confessed when we finally broke our release.

"Yeah, me too," she said in a resigned sigh. "More than I want to admit."

I sighed and nodded. The comment hit home. I wanted things to go back to how they were. I wished we could have just said it. Instead we stood in silence for a bit. Each not knowing how to proceed. An awkwardness still in the air.

Deep breath.

As I did still have to finish up some work, I made the suggestion to Sydney to get warm in a hot shower or bath and then we could catch up over dinner. She happily agreed to the idea and headed up to the stairs and into my bedroom, knowing the master bath housed a large soaking tub. I took the bag she brought and put it in the guest bedroom and went back to my office. Outside, the storm raged and it wasn't long before I was unable to see across the street. It was going to be a doozy.

"Papa!"

Though I had suggested to her that she call me by my name, Sydney continued to call me "Papa," saying that was my name to her.

"What's up?"

"Where are the towels?"

Years prior, my late wife had so many cosmetics and cleansers and female paraphernalia in the bathroom vanity there was no room for towels. Though they had been cleared out for some time, history and tradition dictated that extra towels were in the hallway linen closet. As it were, Sydney couldn't even use my towel as it had gone into the laundry earlier that day.

I grabbed a large bath-sheet and went back to the bathroom, cracking the door just enough to stick my arm and towel through it and called out to her that it was available.

"Uhm... okay."

Her response had me somewhat confused until I heard her get out of the water and, with wet, sloppy steps, pad her way across the room to grab it from my outstretched hand. She offered a brief thanks, I responded that it was nothing, and I left to finish up the rest of my work.

Had she expected me to come in?

Had she wanted me to come in?

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"Hey, where's my bag?"

Sydney must have gotten back in the tub as it couldn't have been less than 35 minutes later that I found her standing in my office doorway, wrapped up in the towel that I had delivered to her, but now a refreshed and rosy-pink hue.

"I put it in the guest bedroom," I responded.

Though no words came out of her mouth, it seemed obvious that she wanted to say something to me. Instead, we both remained silent for a bit before she turned and walked away without a word.

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We were halfway through a quiet dinner when the power went out.

While I had been meaning to get a generator for the house for a number of years, it was something that just constantly got put on the back-burner and never happened. The good news is that I had a significant supply of firewood in the garage for use in the fireplace not only in the living room, but also my master bedroom, an eccentricity of my house that could not have come at a better time.

Outside, the storm raged on.

We were sitting by the fire downstairs, not particularly saying too much, when Sydney informed me she was going to be going to bed. Though it was still quite early, I recognized the stress of the day and wished her goodnight, briefly suggesting that she should stay in the warmth of the living room while I got a fire going in the bedroom first.

"Oh, thank you," she responded, folding up the blanket she had been cuddled into, "but absolutely not necessary. I figured I would be in the guest bedroom anyway."

I tried insisting that Sydney take my bed but she wouldn't hear of it, instead saying that she refused to put me out even more than she already had and would be absolutely fine in the guest bedroom. And, with that, she left me alone with my thoughts. Thoughts that included:

I was clueless as to how to proceed. What was it so difficult for us to get past our arguments from weeks prior?

I probably screwed up when I put her bag in the guest bedroom and didn't walk in to give her the towel.

All the progress I thought I had made when it came to "getting back out there" and being with a woman again was obviously a fallacy.

How could I have botched this entire situation so royally?

It wasn't much longer before I figured there was no sense in sitting around by myself and decided to head to bed. I was in no mood to start another fire so I grabbed a couple of extra blankets and went upstairs. Stopping outside the guest room I whispered an inquiry to see if Sydney was doing okay but, in getting a response of silence, determined she had already fallen asleep.

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I had finished my pre-bed ritual of brush, floss, and mouthwash, and was in the process of spreading the couple of extra blankets on the bed when I heard the light tap on the door behind me. Sydney, wrapped in a blanket, was standing at the door.

"Hey," I said softly, "I hope I didn't wake you."

"No. You're good," she responded. "I'm actually wondering if I could join you in here."

"Cold?"

"Maybe a little. Honestly though, I just kinda' wanna' to be with someone and not alone. But it's okay if you would rather be by yourself. I know you like to sleep alone."

When we had been on better terms there were a couple of instances that we had been together in which I had gone home after an evening together as opposed to spending the night. I had rationalized it with her a couple of different ways. First, there was worry about perception and what the neighbors might think. And, second, that she had insisted on - and we had agreed to - nothing serious. She had always taken it in stride and chided me that she was sure it was because I couldn't bear the thought of actually sharing a bed with her. I figured she was joking and legitimately thought she didn't care. Like so many things it seemed, it's possible I was wrong.

I pulled down one side the covers and motioned for her to get in, an invitation she readily accepted, running and jumping into the bed, still wrapped up in her blanket and clothes, and snuggled herself tight.

Sydney didn't say anything more. Not when I got into bed myself. Not even when I said goodnight to her. But she did scoot herself backwards into me and pulled me into a spooning position, curling herself up in the security and warmth of my body.

The action brought a smile to my face and reminded me of those cold winter nights when my wife would do the same. I countered a quick pang of sadness with a gentle squeeze of my current companion and she countered by pulling my arm just a little bit tighter around her body.

Sydney Buckner.

No kidding.

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It had to have been past midnight when I was woken up by movement. Sydney was sitting up in bed, illuminated just by the glow of the soft light coming through the window.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she responded, "just a bit hot."

I realized that I too was quite a bit warm and, realizing I had overdone it with the blankets, suggested that I take the extra ones off.

"No. Please don't. I like the weight of them," she said to counter my suggestion, and pulled the extra blanket she had been wrapped in out from under the covers and onto the floor.

"I'm not sure that's going to be enough to..."

My train of thought was derailed when she pulled her sweatshirt - and then the t-shirt she had on underneath it - over her head, her warm, soft breasts like beacons in the dim room, and began pulling down the sweatpants she was sporting as well.

"You won't be cold?," I asked her before internally chiding myself for being such an idiot.

"Remember the first night we were together?" She was nude when she straddled me and starting pulling at my clothing, encouraging me to join her. "I was shivering when we moved from the hot kitchen to the bedroom and you pulled me close, saying our body heat was the best to stay warm. Even though it's true, I know you were just joking around, but still, silly enough, it's one of the best memories I have of our time together."

The cold air of the room was shocking to my skin when I had finally been stripped fully nude and I was happy to have Sydney yank the covers back over us and curl herself back into me. Instinctively, I pulled her in tight, her small body wedged into my own.

"See how nice this is?"

"Couldn't agree more," I whispered in response, kissing the back of her head for emphasis.

Of course, with the position we were in and the way the mood had changed, things began to happen. As it was, Sydney, in pulling my arm over her, directed my hands to her breasts, and my natural instinct was to gently cup and massage them, making her nipples hard and causing periodic goosebumps on her skin. And, as her body naturally moved, from breathing or getting comfortable, her shapely young butt ground into my groin, my manhood inflating.

Long story short, the results were seemingly inevitable.

She didn't resist in any way when I encouraged her to flip over and face me, and readily accepted my direction as I pulled her body on top of my own. It was not unexpected when she started kissing me and I happily and hungrily kissed her back, her hands caressing my cheeks and hair, my hands exploring her sides and butt. We stayed in that position for a while, her small frame balanced easily on top of me, and got reacquainted from the time we had been apart. In touch, in taste, and smell.

I was amazed with how naturally we fell back into the rhythm we had begun to develop weeks prior and was pleasantly surprised when Sydney initiated the first move away from our handsy makeout session and inched her way down my body towards my cock, a trail of soft kisses in her wake.

When she wrapped her lips around me I insisted she spin around, her body once again on top of me, but in a sixty-nine position that had brought us so much pleasure in the past. We had warmed up so much and so quickly that I did end up having to pull most of the blankets off of us, avoiding the burden of me overheating and Sydney suffocating under the covers. That said, none of these trivialities slowed our progress and I felt her body shudder in my grasp when I first kissed her needy clit.

"Oooooohhh, shiiiittt..." she groaned, her voice vibrating through her mouthful of cock.

***Authors Note: Have you seen those laundry detergent commercials that say that scent is the sense most strongly tied to memory and emotion? We've all had those moments, smelling something that takes us back to our grandparents house, our elementary school, or our first love. I previously figured that the smells and memories had to be from the distant past. As it turns out, I figured wrong. As my tongue worked itself around and across her needy sex, in and out of the delicate petals and folds of her skin and across her swollen button, my nose took in and savored her sweet, musky scent. In my head, it did not take me back to my time or experiences with my spouse, rather it added an exclamation point to the more recent memories of my time with Sydney. It felt comfortable. It felt right.

I was thankful for my daydream when Sydney started rolling through an orgasm and I realized that my lack of focus actually served me well. My partner had become quite the felatio expert during our time together and, while I probably could have finished in due fashion, I sensed that, for the first time, we were going to move beyond that.

As her small body lay heaving beside me, still lit only by the soft glow of winter outside, I was again amazed by my luck in life. First to have experienced everything I had with my late wife, and then again with Sydney.

"That was amazing," she panted. "In only a few short weeks I swear I had almost forgotten how good you are at that and how much I like it."

"Legitimately," I responded, "the pleasure is all mine."

She turned and looked at me, her young face angelic, and I could read the conflict within her. Were we done? Did she fall asleep after the energetic output of the climax? Or, were we able to just so easily pick back up where we had left ourselves previously? Could she muster the energy and was it appropriate to continue? Was I pressuring her by even thinking about things?

"Sydney..."

Her name was barely out of my mouth when she climbed on top of me and straddled my groin.

"I want this," she whispered as she began to kiss me again, "I want this so much more than I thought I would have."

I didn't say anything as she instinctively began to writhe back and forth on top of me, her soft skin the sensation of velvet on my own. I was thankful for the cold air around us as I was sure we would have otherwise been sticky with sweat.

She reached between her legs and guided me into her dripping pussy, and we each held our breath as she wiggled her way down my length, each of us finally releasing a deep sign as she bottomed out at the hilt.

"Oh, wow," she moaned with a heavy breath, "that's so full."

"Take it slow," I whispered. "I want to enjoy every second."

Her first response was to kiss me, and, indeed, we did take it slow.

We took it slowly as our bodies acclimated to the other. I felt nothing but pleasure in the micro-verberations and movements that emanated through her core as her inner walls grew accustomed to having me within her, and, I suspect, just the notion of having a man within her. In fact the sensation of literally feeling her become more wet was such an incredible turn-on, one that I would have loved to experience for even longer, and I felt myself grow harder from it.

We took it slowly as we built into a rhythm, never leaving the same cowgilr position, never missing an opportunity for our hands and mouths to savor the sensations of the other. When she ran her hands through my hair... when I massaged her butt... when she took my earlobe in her mouth... when I took her nipple in mine, there was no shift in cadence to the mutually steady slow thrusts of our hips, and the full body enjoyment of the experience.

We even took it slowly in speeding up our pace to reach our shared climax and, when we did each crest over that wave, the experience was as powerful as any I have ever had. With our bodies both rigid and our heartbeats in sync, the involuntary pulsations of our bodies against one another capped an experience to remember. At her request, I didn't pull out, rather flooded her insides with weeks worth of pent up energy and cum, meant for nobody other than her. I somehow felt like I was both invincible steel and turning inside out at the same time, yet the magnetic electricity between us wouldn't have allowed the experience to be felt any other way.