Heat from an Old Flame

Usually, Marc rode his bicycle for exercise―hard. It was the the one kind of fitness he did outside the gym. On this lazy Saturday afternoon, things were different. He pedaled apathetically through the August sun, which beat down through a sky of sparse cirrus clouds. It was almost a month since his girlfriend had left him for a lawyer. True, their relationship had drifted and Marc admitted to himself that it was probably his fault; he had never thought of her as his soul mate, his one and only; but one thing had led to another and they had been together for a few years. Why had she left him? Perhaps she saw the writing on the wall―there was nothing in it for either of them. And yet it still hurt. Had she left him for money? He wondered. Looks? Marc hadn't met the lawyer, but as a fitness instructor he didn't think of himself as ugly. Average at the very least. No, it must be something else. It hadn't been a good month at the gym. His concentration was bad and he'd considered requesting a few days vacation earlier than scheduled, but no, he'd persisted through the hot summer weeks, fighting to stay healthy and keep the demons away.

The newly cut hay fields adjacent to the road gave off a scent that made him want to stop, get off his bike and lie down to sleep in the sun, but there was no shade and his torso was naked. Better to keep going than fall asleep and get a sun burn.

He thought about the night before when he'd almost picked up a girl at a downtown bar. She had been attractive and had seemed willing enough to leave with him after some conversation, but when it came down to inviting her for something more, he hesitated and walked out, alone. He wondered why until, back at home, he'd pulled out his old high school yearbook. The nostalgia wasn't good for him like this, newly single again. He turned to where Kathy had signed it, his old girlfriend from the final year. He never should have let her go. Probably she had been married now for years. No doubt he'd find out sooner or later at some reunion. But oh that honey blonde hair flying in the wind, that laughter. That figure. It was years, but he could still taste her lips and feel her long fingers on the palm of his hand.

In the midst of his reverie pedaling through the quiet fields, a pothole gave Marc a jarring bounce and he landed unceremoniously on the pavement. He picked himself stiffly up. This never happened to him. He cursed his inattention. One of his knees was a bit scraped but aside from that he was none the worse for wear. Then he he noticed his front tire was flat. He looked up at the sky with his hands out in disgust. Nothing seemed to be going right lately. On the other hand, an occurrence like this wasn't completely out of the ordinary. He was an avid rider and prepared for this sort of thing, having with him what he need to repair the tire tube or if that failed, spare inner tubes and the tools needed to replace a damaged one. He took off his backpack and removed the tire to examine the damage. There was a rip in the tube all right, impossible to mend with a patch. He'd have to replace it. After a few moments of rummaging around in his backpack, Marc broke into a cold sweat despite the heat: there was no spare inner tube left. How could he he have let this happen? He was usually meticulous about having a spare and here he was in the middle of nowhere with a flat.

He pulled out his cell phone. Surely there was someone on his contact list who could pick him up and get him out of this mess. The phone was switched off. That was strange―he normally always left it on. He pressed the 'on' button. Nothing. The battery must be dead.

Here he was, miles out in the countryside and there wasn't a vehicle in sight. Had a pickup truck passed him earlier? Perhaps if he waited for a while, someone would drive by. Surely those who lived in a place like this would give him a helping hand?

Beyond the field was a stand of trees. Marc put a flat hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun and trying to see if there were any buildings there, since it looked like a good bet that a farmhouse lay behind the woods. Since it appeared it wouldn't take more than ten or fifteen minutes to walk, he set off, pushing the broken-down mount beside him. Not a car or a truck or any vehicle whatsoever passed by and he began to wonder how big the farms in this area were. To his great relief however, before long he saw his hunch was right: a building set back from the road became slowly visible behind the trees, and it was indeed a house. But would anyone be home? Surely there must be. There had to be. He quickened his pace, wanting one way or another to be out of his misery on the question.

As he hurried closer, a group of farm buildings behind the house came into view, and miracle of miracles there were three vehicles parked near the house―an SUV and a couple of pickup trucks. A side window was open and as he leaned his bicycle against the porch, he could hear music coming from inside the house. It wasn't country music as he might have expected but a female jazz voice singing something that made him stop in his tracks before he knocked. The thought of a weathered farmer having some afternoon delight with his wife came to mind, but was at odds with the music which undulated with smoothness as if silk floated through the air.

Finally, hearing no one and seeing no doorbell, he knocked firmly and suddenly felt self conscious since he'd been riding with no shirt and didn't in fact have one with him. After a few moments he heard footsteps and the door opened.

Marc stared, open mouthed. The woman who answered the door was no farm wife. She was gorgeous, and he recognized her almost at once: it was Kathy, his old girlfriend from high school. His face flushed, but he noticed the same happening to her; she definitely recognized him too. The music drifted through the air as each stared at the other until she finally spoke.

"Marc! What on earth brings you here to the middle of nowhere? What's it been, nine, ten years? How did you know I was here?"

He gave her a genuine smile, trying to slow his breathing. They'd gone out together for nine months until the end of their senior year but had parted before college. What a mistake that had been, he thought to himself. She'd been good looking back then but now she was stunning. His mind reversed course quickly. Of course she must be married now or have a boyfriend. Look at her―she must. He wanted to glance down to see if she had a ring on the appropriate finger, but he couldn't break his eyes away from hers.

"I had no idea you were here Kathy. This is as much a surprise for me as it is for you. I'm here by chance. Cool place you've got, does your husband own this farm? I thought you were going into college for science."

"Actually," she said, her eyes roaming a bit, "I'm not married. This is my folks place. They bought the farm a year after I graduated. Don't you remember my dad always saying he wanted to sell his business and buy a hobby farm? What about you, you must have gotten hitched? Jeez you look good. I'm sorry, what am I keeping you at the door for? Come in, I'd love to catch up with you, but why on earth are you here?" Her voice trembled ever so slightly.

Marc slipped inside the door and removed his running shoes, leaving him in his riding shorts. Memories flooded back as he watched her lead him down a short hallway. Her dark-blonde hair waved back and forth in its ponytail like a wisp of nature.

"To be honest, my cell phone battery died, which I found out after I got a flat riding my bike in the area. I thought I had a spare inner tube, but no luck."

Kathy led the rest of way into a sitting area where the jazz sounds still played, and he sat on a comfortable sofa beside her. He felt self conscious about wearing only shorts and folded his arms in front of his chest. He did recall her dad wanting to buy a farm. He looked at her hair, the hair he'd touched so often. So golden and silky and still long. She wore a loose white t-shirt and very short shorts, accentuating her shapely legs, which were barefoot.

"You didn't answer my question about being married," she said, smiling.

"Oh―nope, not married," he said, looking into her eyes and remembering their grey blue depths. "But I did have a girlfriend for a while. Nothing at the moment."

"I can hardly believe anyone would let you go. Based on the shape your in." She smiled, but there was a catch in her throat and she seemed a little embarrassed. "I'm so rude Marc," she said, rising, "I guess you surprised me. It's so hot. Let me get you a drink. What would you like?"

"Just a big glass of water is fine, thank you," he said, watching her shapely derriere disappear into the kitchen. She reappeared a moment later with two glasses filled with water and ice.

"Kathy, you must have a guy yourself," he said, taking a large drink of the cool water, and then added, "based on the shape you're in now."

She pushed a fist into his shoulder and grinned at him.

"You haven't changed a bit, have you Marc?" The big eyes he remembered looked deep into him, those eyes he had kissed. The hands he had held. He remembered how much he had wanted her in high school, how much he had ached to go all the way with her, but had never dared. She was too intimidating and wasn't shy about telling him where she drew the line. Why had he ever left her? He watched her lips, remembering kissing them, remembering the fire they kindled in him.

Her eyes became a little sad, almost tearful and she took one of his hands in hers and played with it, tracing the lines.

"No Marc, I'm not attached right now either. I did have a boyfriend for a few years but there were things about the way he treated me that I wasn't happy about. Finally one day he pushed me too far and I ended it. I was sad. Angry too. You know what I mean. You feel like there's something wrong with you, not the other person."

"Yes. I know what you mean Kathy," he said. His old girlfriend had never treated him like Kathy did. So tender like this. His heart suddenly began to melt, remembering the old way Kathy used to hold him, to stroke his shoulders.

"It's hard to believe we parted after high school. I never forgot you, but after you got that boyfriend in college...", he watched her long fingertips stroking his palm, and smelled her hair, her skin, her hint of perfume. "That's a lovely scent you have on. How did you end up at your parents?"

"Thank you Marc," she said, "yeah, I've been really busy working on a thesis for my doctoral degree in biochemistry and I haven't been getting out much socially. Right now, staying at my parents is like an oasis where I can chill out, make some progress and take stock, you know? When they asked me to take care of their place while they went on a month-long vacation it was a great opportunity to get to work and really get something done. Three weeks later I've accomplished a lot." She looked from his hand to his eyes. "But never mind that. I've thought about you a lot over the years, Marc."

"Me too," he said.

They were both silent. The music continued to play, rhythmic and slow, and he saw there was something else she wanted to say. On that summer day long ago, before they went off to different colleges, they had sat on the beach looking out at the waves, talking about their dreams. Kathy had been so practical. No use trying to keep the pretense of a relationship when they would practically never see each other anyway. Why not reconnect when school was over for the year? But they never did. They had traded e-mails and he'd found found out she had a new boyfriend and later he'd found a college girlfriend and that was that. He'd thought about getting in touch with her at the end of that freshman year, but if she was heavily involved with the other guy it would have been awkward. He had waited for her to write or call, but neither ever came, and he had moved on.

Slowly, Kathy picked up his hand and ran it along her cheek and lips, and then put it back down. A look of hurt flared in her voice and her eyes began to glisten with wetness.

"Why, Marc? Why didn't you ever call me again? Why?"

He remembered wanting to. What had stopped him? He remembered one day that summer after the first year of college when he'd gone out to the beach and missed her and promised himself he would call her. And yet he hadn't.

"I was afraid," he said, his voice deep and sad. "Afraid you wouldn't want me. Afraid I nothing to you. When you said you had a boyfriend that first year of college, I thought you'd found someone else for good and you didn't want to come back to me."

"You were wrong," she said, less harshly. "He was nothing. I was waiting for you to ask me back. But you never did. I guess I should have called you and told you my real feelings, especially after I broke up with that guy, but I guess I felt the same. I heard you had a girlfriend that year too. But I shouldn't have sat around waiting."

He put an arm around her and dried the tear with his finger. He was seized with an ache to hold her for a long, long time, to make up for the years when he'd felt the emptiness, felt the loss of her touch, of their unfulfilled desire. Her wet eyes were on his lips and he moved to her, bending his head. As he closed his eyes, she put her arms around his neck and their mouths met.

He felt warm electricity pulse through his body as her tongue ran along his lower lip, and as she took it between her two lips and kissed it over and over again, her warm full mouth filling his soul with the old longing desire. He was aware of her body, the fullness of her figure. Her tongue eventually slid between his lips and began to explore him. Both their tongues danced together as if making up for the lost years of want. Her mouth tasted of something, and it was divine, as if she were a goddess filled with ambrosia. He took her tongue full into his mouth and sucked on it luxuriously, closing his eyes and lingering on the feeling of that living wet organ surrendering to him. They came up for air and almost before he could take a breath she whispered, "please don't stop, Marc. Please."

He kissed her lips again, feeling their softness, their succulence, their want. Marc felt desired. The way Kathy kissed him, he felt more deeply wanted than he could ever remember. He breath was soft and warm. The moans that escaped from her seemed to come not from her throat but from her heart. Her lips were so full and perfect that he wanted to keep on kissing her forever. She kissed his lips back. She sucked them, first the lower, then the upper. She flicked her tongue into his mouth, and his thighs responded to the suggestive kissing. Her fingers were now in his hair and she drew him in more deeply and urgently.

They had never gone all the way as teenagers but it seemed as if she wanted that now. As if she had read his thoughts, she ended the kiss, and took his hand, pressing it against her breast.

"Please, Marc," she said urgently, "please...it's all right to keep going now. I told you no years ago but we were young then and we're not now. I want this more than anything."

He pulled her t-shirt up and off, and undid her bra, gasping at the beauty of her breasts. The nipples were already tight. He was about to kiss them when she put a finger to his lips. Taking his hand, she led him wordlessly out of the room and down the hall to her bedroom where they lay side by side on the bed and continued.

He kissed her lips again, closing his eyes and smelling her skin, and moved his mouth lower to her neck, feeling her arch and open in anticipation. He made wet circles around her breasts before taking in each red ripe nipple into his mouth, drawing on them and tasting their sweet texture, hearing her moans rising, the harder he sucked. Slowly his hand roamed down and into her shorts and along the edge of her skimpy underwear, feeling the contours of her perfect pussy.

Gasping, she pulled down her shorts and panties making herself naked, and then helped him with his shorts also.

In the distance in the other room, the hot afternoon music played lazily on as again traced his fingers in circles around the soft, sensuous curves of her warm breasts. He took a nipple between his finger and thumb, and as she kissed him again deeply it felt to as if the intervening years were a heavy cloak falling from his shoulders, as if he had been waiting for this moment, as if all the time since they had parted was a dream.

Slowly, in rhythm to the distant music he kissed her belly and around her belly button, licking the sweet depression with his tongue while his fingers sought the delicate edges of her pussy below. Once again he tasted her left nipple and then the right, licking them with his warm tongue before curling around each in turn with an O and sucking with more and more force until she again moaned deeply. His middle finger was now inside her, alternately stroking her swollen clit, and dipping into her and pressing against her sensitive g-spot, which was beginning to clench around his finger. Each time he stroked her more deeply, her eyes fluttered with hunger and he could tell she was getting closer and closer to exploding right over the top. He opened his eyes to watch her, wanting to feel her pleasure.

The curve of her waist and the triangle of her slightly open pussy, its juices leaking, had his thighs aching with desire. While his finger was inside her, Kathy's hands went to his cock, and she spread pre-cum onto his rippling shaft and stroked longingly with her silky-soft fingers. He felt her breath catch, and his finger insider her curved and gave more pressure before she seized upon it with her vaginal muscles, letting out a long series of moans in orgasm. Her breathing continued hard.

"Oh Marc, Oh Marc. Please. Please. Fuck me."

Mounting her, he rubbed the head of his thickness against her, probing the slick, sensitive clit before, popping his cock into her swollen pinkness with the rhythm of the lingering music. Without missing a beat he pressed it all the way in, stretching her. Kathy's eyes opened wide and he could see she wanted him, carnally wanted to be one with him, wanted his thick rod to fuck her hard. He began to thrust his loins, moving faster and faster with each stroke, holding his torso high so that his shaft moved against her full clit each time he took her.

He closed his eyes, feeling her divine wetness, her soul, her desire for him, and remembered the feeling of longing years ago when they had kissed, when they had touched through their clothes and he had wanted more. Her tightness was erotic, sensual, amazing and with each rich stroke he felt her to her very depths. Her breathing was quickening again and he felt his want reach its apex. She put her hands behind him and pumped his butt hard into her, not letting go, as if they were on the top of a mountain holding each other from a chasm. Her orgasm had barely begun to vibrate and clench before Marc felt the rush of his pulsing ejaculation pour into her with satisfying jets. The waves washed over them and then slowly receded.

For a long time he held her close, savouring the deep emotional satisfaction. Her breathing was like a purr as she nestled close. There was only the music left, its beat down the hallway matching the throb of their hearts.

Softly and very slowly he stroked her hair and kissed her lips.

"What were the odds," she whispered, looking up at the ceiling in a blissful glow.

"One in a million," Marc said, his eyes closed.

She put a fingertip over the middle of his lips and then kissed him, opening his eyes.

"You don't regret this do you?" she said.

"Never," he said, marveling at her lovely face. "I'm glad I blew a tire today".

"Me too," she said, snuggling in closer.