Dear Memory Ch. 1

At the pool, in our little clearing behind the changing rooms. I gave you a blow job, and with you hot and throbbing in my hand, begged you to fuck me again. You took me from behind, as I bent forward, leaning against the changing room wall. You tugged the material of my one piece swimsuit aside. It was awkward, and you slipped out more than once. But the sensation of your hardness, sliding up into my body, your hand spreading the cheeks of my ass… , my juices running down my inner thighs like a veritable flood. Rear entry became my favourite from that day on… and despite the fear of discovery and hurry it engendered, I loved you humping against my ass under the hot, African sun. I could feel, and hear your climax approach and it did think that you were not going to withdraw, and to my shame would have let you pump your seed into me, risking what that entailed. But as ever, your common sense overruled my lusts, as with a hoarse warning, your impaling spike was withdrawn. I managed to spin round to take your cum in my mouth. I was getting rather good at all this.

Our third fuck was in the garden one more time, and I had the pleasurable experience of lowering myself onto your hardness. You removed my pants and left me in my skirt. With my t-shirt and bra hiked up exposing m breasts, you had me squatting over you, impaled on your manhood. It also allowed me to see.. see my dark, swollen lipped pussy sliding up and down your pale, veined shaft. You jerked out of me at the last moment, and wide eyed, I watched your slippery wet length, bob and jerk as you spat your semen up over your belly. Mesmerised by the sight, I made no effort to take you into my mouth.

The end of the holidays came all too soon. And the knowledge that we would be leaving Africa for good prayed on my mind, and finally drove to desperation. Our final lovemaking… I sneaked you into our house for the second time, knowing my parents were out for dinner and would be late home. You came three times that night. In my mouth as I sucked you off in the middle of the living room floor, both of us fully dressed. You picked me up and carried into my bedroom. I was still shy about the little girl appearance, all frills and pastel colours, with too much pink. You told me it looked nice.

You undressed me, removing every stitch of clothing, slowly, kissing each exposed area of flesh. For only the second time I stood naked before you. No longer the shy virgin, but as your lover. You performed what I remember as an act of worship to my body. You kissed and paid homage to every inch, every nook and cranny of my electrically charged body. You spread my thighs, and I held them wide, tendon aching. You ate my pussy, slow and unhurried, as I writhed and moaned and begged you to fuck me. You had other plans, and turned me onto my side, and then you turned around on me, confusing me as you faced my feet, your mouth still pressed to my sex. As your hard cock was once more pressed to my face, I discovered the confusing pleasure of a 69 for the first time. I lost count of the number of times your tongue and fingers made me cum.. but do remember your gushing cock filling my mouth a second time.

We rested, and I kept a careful eye on the clock, knowing that you would have to be gone and irresistibly, the hour of my parents return crept up on us. We talked vaguely about our futures... silly things, childish things, and we both knew that our destinies lay not within our own hands. I became upset, fearful of the parting we knew must come. You promised not to forget me... and I pretended to believe you. The clock ticked, and our time diminished. “I want you to cum inside me... I want to feel you...” I pleaded. You annoyed me by pointing out that you came in my mouth. “Its not the same!” and a little girl petulance infected my voice. You were gentle, but unyielding, “We – YOU - can’t take that risk.” I cursed your calm and common sense. I pleaded some more and then you said “There is an other way... that would be safe.” I knew immediately what you meant, remembering how you had pressed a finger to my anus now and again. I took little convincing...

“I don’t know… wouldn’t that hurt?”

“Not if you relax.. got any Vaseline?” you grinned I was a bit fearful of the pain and not at all sure that it was an acceptable act of lovemaking. I let you finger the tight little hole, and found it as previously, not unpleasant. I could see how much the idea turned you on – and I was going to do whatever it took to give you your pleasure.

At your urging I raided the bathroom cabinet and came back with the a small jar of Vaseline. Despite having cum twice your cock was as hard as ever. Then you lay me on my back, legs spread wide as you knelt and entered my well fucked pussy once again. When you withdrew, and raised my bum for the final act, I found my fears had been replaced with a powerful feeling of anticipation. “Relax.. this won’t hurt a bit”, you intoned in your best dentist fashion, anointing my tight opening and the length of your cock with Vaseline. You lied. It hurt. It hurt like a hot poker in my ass… but when I saw the concern on your face I begged you not to stop. Despite the lubrication my asshole felt as it was being torn open… but slowly your gentle movements eased and my abused opening relaxed. The pain lessened and a strange heat began to build. You saw the change in my expression and began to force your self deeper into me. Looking up at you, your expression concerned, intent, your glance flicking from my face and then down to watch your pale cock buggering my virginal brown asshole… it is still with me. You took my hand, unclenching my fingers and placing it over my pussy. Encouraged by your awed and loving expression I understood, and masturbated for you, rubbing my throbbing clitoris, fingering my recently fucked pussy hole. I could feel you! I could feel your cock, through the thin wall of my vagina… and your expression told me that you could feel my finger. To my surprise, I could feel the onset of an orgasm.. a new sensation, your hardness in my ass, my finger, your expression of loving lust.. You started those fast shallow strokes, that with my recently won experience, told me that you were close to cuming. You really did like my ass! “Cum inside me..” I managed to gasp and you did. Feeling you jerk, your hardness pulse, was enough to trigger my own uniquely anal orgasm. I was unlike anything I have ever experienced since. Three times a woman had been a line you explained to me at that first party – mouth, cunt and ass.

You made it out of the house with minuets to spare, any longer, and you would have been trapped inside. Nothing like bars on all the windows to maintain a sense of urgency. I stripped the bed after you left, and soaked in the bath until my parents became worried. Worried about me bathing too long! If only they had known. Then I was gone. Back to Malaysia, back to my cultural prison. I put you away, like a childhood toy that you are ashamed to remember how much you loved. The memory of you faded, like a dream, but never disappeared. My eventual marriage was one of practicality and common sense, not passion. Every time my dutiful husband parted my thighs to perform his husbandly duty, the sense of anticipation I felt was never realised, a nagging, unspecified memory telling me that I was missing something.

So, despite my respectability, my marriage vows, not to mention cultural taboos, I will meet with you. My memories are too powerful, my fingers are jammed too deep inside my aching pussy. The memory of you haunts my tongue - and that young, wild child lives once more in this middle aged body. I will be in that bar tomorrow night, and I will want fucking – fucking out of my mind.

And maybe, just maybe, I will have another story to write……

Part II

Dear Memory,

What have you done to me! I knew, I knew with every logical bone in my body that meeting you again would be a mistake… how trite that sounds. A mistake. My life, my world, threatens to crash down upon my head and that little word, mistake, does not do the situation justice. My husband is convinced that I have been whoring myself, and has voiced his suspicions to his family, who have passed it all to mine. I don’t know where to turn, how to fight this. I can’t fight it because it’s true. I have whored myself… with you… and the problem really is that I want to do it again, and again. My husband knows… not what, not who, but has a good idea about the when. Rani’s alibi has held firm, despite the pressure from the family. But she knows what I did that night… I had to tell her, she is my alibi, but her knowing only makes it more likely that the truth will come out. The worst thing is, that I fear, despite all this hell, that my night of madness may have worth it. Oh God, I don’t know who, or what I am any more.

Thank you for the compliments… but I know that I am not the wild young thing you fucked senseless all those years ago. Age, marriage and the responsibilities of respectability have taken their toll. Yes, I have kept my figure, and my breasts and ass are firm - but the wrinkles are there… not, dear Memory, that it seemed to lessen your ardour in the slightest.

I got there early, too early, and my nervousness led to at least one drink to many. Dutch courage? But when you strode across that crowded bar, straight towards me, my middle-aged nervousness dropped away, like a heavy coat removed for the heat of summer. And heat there certainly was... in my heart, and between my thighs. The next person sit in my seat would have found a damp patch. God, listen to me – all this is your fault! Despite the years, you didn’t seem to have changed. A little hint of grey at the temples, a little heavier… but I would have known you instantly. Seeing you in a suit and tie was more of a surprise – I almost expected you in the jeans, t-shirt and flip flops of my memory.

I don’t think I said more than a dozen words to you. I could only look at you, the face of my dear memories, overlaid on your new features, older, wiser features. You must have thought me rude, distant... but if you could have read my mind… I was thinking about your dick. I was remembering kneeling before you in the African sun with my mouth full of you. I was fighting the desire to kneel in that crowded bar and unzip your trousers. Me! A respectable, middle-aged Indian wife! Pure, spine tingling, madness. You chatted so easily, your smiles awakening dormant memories. It was akin to time travel – as if the years, the life I had lead, was a distant dream. That trust I had felt in you is still there. You talked, making up for both of us, telling me how pleased your were to have found me after all these years. I nodded and smiled in the right places, or more or less, and wondered when you would fuck me. You told me about your life, the good bits, the funny bits, some sad bits. I must have seemed disinterested – I can only say ‘sorry, my thoughts were elsewhere’. You glossed over your love affairs – the one bit that caught my attention. Who were they? Did you fuck them like you fucked me? Do they have their own memories of you that they ruthlessly suppress, allowing them to continue their mundane lives? I could take no more, and swallowed the last of my drink in one long gulp. The glass rattled noisily as my shaking hand returned it to the tabletop. “Enough… lets get out of here.” You took it well, and ignored my abruptness, and rising, followed me through the crush to the door.

The cold air was like a slap in the face, sobering, frightening. My will wavered and I thought of fleeing. Then your arm slipped casually around my waist and you were guiding me down the street. The cold night air was suddenly an invigorating contrast to the heat within me... the desire within me. You told me that you had booked a hotel room, a short walk you said, ten minuets. God! How could I not wait ten tiny minuets to feel your cock? How could such wanton insanity overcome my years of respectability? That ally way beckoned and I cast my dignity into the gutter to pull you into its dark, concealing depths. You offered no resistance, and followed me willingly. I pulled on your arm until the shadows gave me the grubby illusion of privacy. You returned my hungry, desperate kisses, without any hint of reluctance or disapproval. I tasted the brandy on your tongue as I grappled at your waist, tugging at your belt and zipper. I cursed in frustration at my clumsiness – undoing men’s trousers was not a skill an Indian matron practised, and would have shocked my husband. He came naked to our martial bed, and disliked my touching him at all – until he was ready to use my body. Now that same body hungered for your cock, deep in my cunt, my ass.. but quickest and easiest to perform in a filthy ally way… my mouth.

You laughed, that funny little noise you made all those years ago – that spoke of your delight and amusement, but shared, not at my expense. I made a little girl noise of my own, a growl of frustration, and you brushed my hands aside, quickly undoing your belt and opening your flies. You were hard, and my first feeling was one of relief... I made you hard. Fishing your erection out of your underwear was another exercise in patience, but I eventually held you in a firm grip. You nuzzled my ear and whispered that you had a hotel room a few minuets away.

“I can’t wait that long.” was my wanton response, and then I squatted in that filthy ally way and pressed my lips to the circumcised helmet that was an old friend, absent for all too long. No playful licks or kissing, my hunger was too fierce, too urgent. I filled my mouth and throat with your throbbing thickness until I gagged and spluttered. I milked the base of your shaft urgently, spluttering and snorting through my nose, sucking on your maleness. You were bigger than my memory of you. Bigger than my husband. I felt your finger brush the hair away from my face, and knew that you were looking down at me, mouth stretched to accommodate your cock, and felt such a flush of pleasure... I almost came there and then. For all my desire I felt clumsy, awkward. I wanted to taste your cum, I wanted to drink your essence, and I lacked any type of technique... the expertise that I had learned in that summer of love had long since atrophied, I was used to being fucked in the mouth, not using my mouth as a means of forcing a climax. To my dismay and frustration I was forced to draw back, as I almost choked myself. I looked up at your comforting features and moaned in my frustration. And you understood. Didn’t you? You knew what I wanted and gently took control. Your hands held my head in a gentle, firm grip, and you began to slide you cock back and forth in my open mouth. This I understood, keeping my lips firmly pressed to your shaft as you fucked my open mouth, firm, but restrained. I could feel the tension build in you, the tremor in your hips and the firmer grip of your steadying hands. I knew the moment of your crisis, the throb in your shaft, the suddenly stillness of your thrusting hips, and the tremble in your hands. I could feel that first spurt of your semen travel down your cock. Then it was jetting against the roof of my mouth. I didn’t swallow immediately…. I wanted my mouth filled with your seed. I wanted savour the taste of you. The scent of semen filled my nasal passages, and I fought not to sneeze. You filled me to overflowing, a dribble down my chin, until reluctantly, I let your aromatic seed, slide down my throat. I sucked at your undiminished manhood, seeking every drop of your cum, before letting you slide free of my mouth.

You had to help me rise, as the awkward squatting had caused my abused knees to seize up. I wiped my chin on my jacket sleeve, but was pleased at your immediate insistence on kissing me, your tongue down my throat, your hands on my ass. My husband rarely kissed me after sex, and never if he had recently cum in my mouth. Your attitude to me, your delight in me, and the respect you paid me was as powerful and as meaningful as that special youth of my memory. I knew there and then that I was doing something that would shake the very foundations of my world. For all its terrors, I also knew that given the opportunity, I would not be changing a thing. You zipped your pants up and once more we passed for something that could be mistaken as respectable, and you lead me the rest of the way to the hotel.

Do you remember the look that man at the desk gave us? A few hours earlier I would have curled up in abject shame.. but I was no longer that person. I actually blew him a mocking kiss! You were funny, apologising for the ordinariness of the room. Did you think I expected the honeymoon suite? I had just sucked your cock and drank you cum in a grubby ally! Rest assured, my dream, it was a fine room for what we had in mind. And I knew exactly what I needed first. I heard you say something about having a shower, but I was in no mood to delay what my body craved. I walked over to the bed, unhooked my long skirt and dropped it in a heap around my ankles. I bent forward at the waist, hands on the bed, and offered you my rear end. No words were required and you wisely kept your mouth shut, as once more you read my mind and my desires. I shivered when you roughly skinned my soaking knickers down, whimpered when your strong hands spread my bottom, thumbs reaching down to split my honeyed peach. You knew what I wanted... no words, no caress, just the long hard intrusion of your cock, hilt deep into my aching cunt. I rocked forward as you slammed into me, hard, fast, just as my body craved. My lowered knickers and entangling skirt made it awkward for me to spread my legs wider but it mattered little. The feel of your hardness, thrusting into my body was a time warp back to my reckless youth. I was sixteen again, crouched behind the changing rooms, cunt exploding with sensations, knees trembling, biting my lip to still my cries… some things had changed, and I must have horrified you, crying out, saying those words... fuck me, fill my cunt, fuck me harder, more, more, more… I don’t think you came, holding my sweaty hips, your hardness driving into me, again and again like some untiring automaton. It was a wonderful fuck.. no finesse, no playing. Just hard and deep and endless… all I know is that I was lost in one unending, gut wrenching, body jerking release of pent up lusts and frustration - and honestly, I don’t really know if was an orgasm or not. The sensations built and built, no peak, just going on and on. It all became too much, and I finally pulled free of you hands, collapsing face down on the bed, body jerking and twitching, ass jiggling in the air. I must have looked a sight.. mind you, when I finally rolled over and looked through my tears at you.. standing with your trousers round your knees, wet cock bobbing in the air… sorry I started laughing.

You finally gathered me up, walked me into the shower and then stripped me naked, just like you did in my bedroom all those years ago. I felt as if I had drunk too much. Light headed, dizzy. We showered, and the water brought me back to reality. Showering with you, our naked, soapy bodies sliding against each other... it was as good as the sex. I sucked you some more... you nearly broke your neck trying to get your tongue into my crack.

We eventually ended up on the bed. It was wonderful... to lie and enjoy each other’s company, gentle now, the wild lusts and urges satiated. You made the same old joke, about wishing you had my tan. I loved your paleness against my darker tones… a pleasing contrast. I took a long time playing with your cock, reacquainting myself with an old, dear friend. You are bigger than I remember, more gnarled, more veined, an older, wiser, lived in cock. I idly wondered, dear cock, where you had been, what you had seen. How many pussies had opened for you? How many mouths and asshole’s? You have a tummy that my memory is sure was not there before… but then so have I. But for all the superficial changes it was as if the last twenty years had never been. You are the same person who consumed my heart and soul under an African sun.. I was almost sure that a clock was ticking somewhere, and my parents due home any minuet.