Memories of Melissa

Writer's Note: I first submitted this story using a different name than the title. It is based on actual events.

*

The first time I laid eyes on Melissa, I was walking down a sidewalk after school with her younger brother, my best friend Doug. The fall day was sunny and warm, I was 16 and happily enjoying a little freedom before meeting my mom at her office to catch a ride home.

As we walked and talked, a small blue two-door stopped a bit short in the street. We both turned when a voice called out, "Hey, Dougie!"

A brunette a few years older than ourselves was sitting in the passenger seat, her tanned, grinning face framed by teased hair that was a brown so deep it was nearly black. She took a drag on a cigarette as Doug walked up to the car and began talking to her. I stayed behind, shuffling awkwardly on the sidewalk, trying to look at the girl without being obvious. Though my curiosity was piqued, I was too shy to approach. But from what I could tell, she was attractive; her carefree, gleeful manner had a sexiness to which I was hypersensitive at that hormonal age. The kicker was that I occasionally smoked cigarettes I pilfered from my dad, and as I smoked I discovered an attraction to women who also smoked. Some years later, I realized it was a sense of naughtiness and mild danger that I connected to smoking, and the attraction to smoking girls waned.

Doug talked to her for a minute before turning around. The car took off, and I got one last look at the laughing brunette, and we momentarily made eye contact before she turned away. I started walking again as Doug joined me on the sidewalk.

"That was my sister," said Doug, not offering more.

"Oh," I said, wanting to know more without betraying my interest. "What did she want?"

"She wants me to watch her daughter tonight," Doug said, a little sourly. "I knew it as soon as I saw her, that's what she wanted."

Doug had talked about his niece before and had always seemed fond of her.

"What's the problem? I thought you like watching her," I said.

"It's not her," Doug said, a little anger in his voice. "Melissa just wants to go out and drink or something. She's a mother and she should act like it."

I didn't reply, but at least now I knew his sister's name.

"She's probably just going to fuck some guy and get pregnant again," Doug spit out, a little petulantly. "Ah, I don't wanna talk about it."

The subject changed and we walked on, teasing each other and telling crude, stupid jokes like the teenage boys we were. But Doug's impression of his sister as a something of a slut tugged at my mind, another element to the bad girl factor. The number of guys a girl had been with didn't bother me then and hasn't since; and knowing that Melissa was obtainable made me want her more.

The next day my thoughts had moved on from Melissa, to be returned to only occasionally until I saw her again.

***

It wasn't until almost two years later that I actually met Melissa, when I was 18 and in my senior year.

I was a fairly awkward, gangly kid, but I was starting to resemble the good-looking man I would become. I had dark red hair that was a shade women were starting to notice, a firm-set jaw and defined, but not jutting, cheekbones. My dark brown eyes stood in contrast to lightly freckled skin. I was tall and thin, my chest and shoulders just starting to broaden to catch up with my height. I had baled a lot of hay that summer on my family's farm, and lean, hard muscle defined my arms, beneath skin that still carried some of the tan (as much of a tan as a redhead like me gets, anyway) from weeks spent in the sun on a haywagon. As I got older, my work on the farm became increasingly strenuous: There was always heavy lifting to do and livestock to wrangle. Though I didn't like the job and would mostly leave farmwork behind after high school, it was starting to firm up my build nicely.

I was also a confirmed smoker and drinker by that point (unbeknownst to almost everyone except a few close friends). One weekend night as Doug and I were driving aimlessly around our rural town, I wanted some beer. Being a minor, my options were limited to get them. I didn't know anyone to ask, because my beer was usually stolen from my dad. But Doug thought his sister would buy for me. That was before cell phones were in every pocket, so we just made the short drive across town to see if she was home. The lights were on, and as we strode up to the back door of her place, I felt edgy and a little nervous.

Despite my drinking, bad girl fantasies and smoking, I was still one of the "good" kids. I got good grades, I went to Catholic CCD every Thursday and the adults who knew me generally thought of me as "a stand-up young man," as my uncle once put it. Smoking, a little drinking, and, of course, frequent masturbation were the worst of the sins I had thus far committed.

But more unnerving was the vision of Melissa on that fall day, not often remembered but still brought to mind occasionally in jerk-off fantasies. I was finally going to meet her, knowing she probably wouldn't give me a second thought but excited at the prospect of being in her company.

When Melissa opened the door, the light from inside made a silhouette of her body, which I could see was on the short side, with full hips, a small waist and the round edges of her breasts swelling out on either side of her chest. She motioned us in and her hair flipped around as she turned. I followed Doug inside the house and into the kitchen, turning toward her as my eyes adjusted to the light.

My jaw dropped just slightly before I caught it. Melissa, 21 years old at the time, was beautiful. Like her brother, she was white but had just enough Native American heritage to give her a darker complexion and very dark brown hair. It flowed straight down her shoulders, framing a roundish face that perfectly fit her deep brown eyes, flawless nose and full lips, which broke into a gorgeous smile as she greeted her brother. She had been drinking and was gregarious as she hugged her brother, while I tried not to stare at her shapely, low-riding jean shorts-covered ass.

"Dougie!" cried Melissa, smacking a kiss on her brother's cheek..

She released her brother, turned to me and asked, in a lighthearted way, "Who the fuck are you?"

But her bluntness threw me off anyway. "M-Mark," I managed to get out. "Doug's friend."

"How old are you? You look like you're 12!"

"I'm 18, actually," I said, only half-heartedly defensive. I was used to it; I had a baby face.

Doug, embarrassed for me (and as he was fairly straight-and-narrow at the time, a little embarrassed for Melissa, too), pushed on.

"Mark was wondering if you would do him a favor," he said.

Melissa raised her eyebrows, a devilish twinkle in her eyes as she looked over at me.

"Oh yeah? What do you need, Mark?" asked Melissa.

"I was wondering if you would buy me some smokes," I said, blushing deeply and looking at the floor.

"Yeah, okay," she said immediately. "You're buying me some more beer, though. And you guys have to drive me."

I didn't think twice about the steep markup. I looked up at her, smiled and said, "Yeah, that's cool, of course."

Unfortunately, my encounter didn't last much longer. She bought a couple packs of cigarettes for me and a six pack for herself from the liquor store, and then had us drop her off at a guy friend's house not far away. Doug, who still could be self-righteous about his general sobriety, wasn't happy about dropping off his sister off with a guy he didn't know to keep drinking (and, Doug knew, possibly fuck). But Melissa brushed him off and left the car. Doug just barely caught my longing look at his sister as she walked up to the guy's house. I lit a cig from one of my new packs, and when the dude let Melissa in I drove away.

I already knew some of what Doug told me about his sister as we drove through the countryside surrounding our town, but much of it was new information. I knew that she got pregnant in high school and had a daughter, then dropped out and married the father, and later had a second daughter. I didn't know that Melissa and her husband had split up, chiefly because the father was an asshole and treated her like dirt.

Melissa had her GED, so she was able to work. When she wasn't at work and when her ex had her kids, Doug explained, she partied.

"What's wrong with that?" I asked. "She works all the time and has to raise two kids, she deserves to relax."

"She smokes weed, too," said Doug, letting his prudish side show again. "And you know she's gonna fuck that guy."

Neither of us had smoked weed, though I had other friends who did and I had no problem with it. Our school had just begun drug testing, however, and I couldn't risk it. I also rarely drank at the time, not yet having acquired the taste for beer that inevitably was the only alcohol served at high school parties. That would change for both of us three years later on a road trip that was both fun and a great adventure, but nearly ruined our friendship.

"So what? She's an adult," I said, not letting my envy of Melissa's buddy seep into my voice. "You can't tell me you wouldn't fuck 50 girls this weekend, if they wanted you."

"She's my sister, man."

"All right, I get it," I relented, thinking of my own little sister.

I saw Melissa just occasionally over the next couple years. Doug started drinking a year or so after he introduced me to his sister, and she would buy for us. On some lucky occasions, I drove Melissa to the liquor store alone, while Doug watched her girls. I was typically a hellion behind the wheel, but I never drove slower than when Melissa was in my car, prolonging our time together.

It was during those too brief meetings that I would ask her about her life and her kids, and after a few trips she began to tell me about her wishes and dreams, and her worries and sorrows. I always listened with an empathetic ear, offering opinions only when asked, and it was never a ploy on my part. I was enamored with Melissa, and I hung on her every word.

***

By the time I graduated high school, I had dated a couple girls, lost my virginity to one of them, and I had moved on from her to a long-term girlfriend, with whom (and with no small amount of trepidation) I had agreed to go to the same college. I had grown into my body well, the continued farm work kept me muscular, and I was gaining some self-confidence.

Melissa remarried a guy, Mitch, and they had a third kid for her, a son. I didn't see her much. I had older friends who could buy beer for me; but more than that, I didn't want to cause problems with Mitch by being the kid who comes around to hang out with his wife.

That summer, I was 20 and Doug and I went on a road trip, staying a week at my uncle's lake house in Michigan and reserving a few more days for a side journey. We brought an eighth of pot with us, kindly pre-rolled into joints (and showing me how to roll in the process) by the co-worker who sold it to me.

The trip was both stressful and fun-filled. We smoked all the weed in the first two-and-a-half days, and then wandered around the small town nearest the lake and tried to find more. Though we did succeed in getting someone to buy us beer, no one knew or was willing to tell us who could sell us some weed. I was kicking myself for not buying more.

In marijuana I had found something that helped me relax and feel more comfortable in my own skin. The awkwardness and shyness of my youth was still holding me back, and when I was high, those feelings evaporated and I felt confident and happy. Even now, I still smoke daily, which Claire tolerates but doesn't exactly like. She sees the success and tireless work I'm capable of despite getting high regularly, but the illegality of it bothers her.

Though the trip made for a healthy share of good memories, we returned home sick of each other. We learned that ten days alone with each other was too many. Unfortunately, the hostility occasionally reared its ugly head between Doug and me for about a year after.

***

During my second semester of college, I went home one weekend without my girlfriend. Doug and I met up briefly, but our continuing clashes cut it short. He was temporarily on a sobriety kick, mostly because he was trying impress a devout Christian girl, and he was starting to get self-righteous about it. We cruised around for a bit, and Doug pointed out Melissa's new place, an apartment in a row of units facing the street, which got me thinking about her.

After Doug and I had enough of each other, he dropped me off at my car. I drove around town aimlessly, looking for anyone I knew and would want to smoke a bowl with me from my fresh stash and new pipe. And I was trying to work my nerve up to call Melissa; I was apprehensive of Mitch picking up.

Finally, I made up my mind, pulled over to a pay phone, and dialed her number. She answered, much to my relief. The conversation was brief, but indicated both that Mitch wasn't home and that I could stop by if I wanted. Yeah, I wanted.

Melissa answered the door looking even better than the first time I had met her. She wore a snug-fitting, white knit blouse that revealed no cleavage, but showed off the swell of her ample breasts. Beneath that she wore around-the-house shorts that were short enough to leave much of her firm, strong thighs displayed.

We embraced, with me hugging tightly but mindful not to hold on to her too long. We sat down with a couple beers at her kitchen table and began catching up, the time apart only just hindering our conversation. I produced my bowl, packed it and, while passing it back and forth, the weed and alcohol lowered our inhibitions and we began talking about deeper, more personal topics.

I was there for an hour or so when headlights shined in the apartment's front windows, and a moment later, Doug walked through the door. He first thing he saw was my bowl, half smoked, sitting on the table.

"You asshole," he said. "Getting high with my sister? You fuckin' asshole."

I started to stand as he walked toward me quickly and, without warning, punched me in the left eye. I fell back into the chair, and Doug whirled around and headed for the still-open door.

"Doug, what the fuck?" cried Melissa. He ignored her and stormed out, got in his car and sped away, the tires spitting gravel from the shoulder of the street as he did.

I wasn't much of a fighter, but I have always had a good tolerance for pain. Doug's wasn't the hardest hit I had ever taken by a long shot, but it landed square and with enough force to push me back down. It began swelling and my first thought wasn't revenge on Doug but how I would explain the shiner I would soon be sporting.

"What the fuck was that about?" said Melissa, leaning in for a closer look as I gently prodded my tender eye socket with my finger.

"I don't think Doug likes me hanging out with his sister anyway, but I bet it was the weed that pissed him off more," I said. "He's been shitty about it lately."

"That fucking sucks," she said. "I can hang out and smoke with whomever I want."

"It's okay, he'll get over it," I said.

Melissa pulled a bag of frozen vegetables from her freezer and, pulling my hand away from my face, placed the bag tenderly over my eye.

"Does it hurt?" she asked

"Not that bad," I answered. Staring into her concerned eyes, the pain and everything else became irrelevant.

It wasn't long before I returned the bag to the freezer and we continued drinking and smoking. We talked about our lives, and I asked about Mitch, her husband.

"Oh," she said, a little reluctantly. "He's in jail."

"Oh, wow, I'm sorry," I said, though that was only half true. I was sorry for her situation, but selfishly I was also a little pleased that he was out of the picture for a while.

We talked for a long time, and eventually we were both yawning. We smoked one last bowl and Melissa declared she needed to pass out. I was still very high, and asked if she minded if I stay for a bit before I drove. She agreed, and we went into the living room. Melissa turned on the TV, which woke her toddler son. He walked into the room and went to his mom, who lay down with him on the floor.

I didn't want to overstay my welcome, despite my angst. After ten minutes or so, and as her son slept soundly, I made up my mind to leave. But before I could, Melissa, who had been a little restless lying on the floor, turned around to where I sat on the couch.

She stared into my eyes for a few moments, her eyes narrowed slightly like she was considering me. I locked my gaze with hers, and I saw her

"Do you want to have sex?" she whispered.

My cock instantly twitched inside my jeans. I could hardly believe those words had come from the mouth of a woman I had wanted to years.

I paused a moment, not deciding but calming down enough to reply without stammering.

"Yes, yes I do," I said.

She got up from the floor and I rose from the couch; Melissa took my hand — her touch immediately making my cock flex again — and led me into her bedroom. She pulled me over to stand beside her bed and squeezed my hand before releasing it. Melissa ran her hand over my chest firmly and made as if to push me backward onto her bed. She seemed to reconsider, though, and instead she climbed onto the bed.

Melissa lay down on it on her stomach, propping herself up with her arms so that her head was at the edge of the bed. She pulled my hips toward her and moved her hands around to run them over my firm stomach. Melissa lifted the bottom of my T-shirt, holding the seam up with her thumbs as she slid her hands back around to my hips. She again pulled me toward her and pressed her face into my abs, then planted light kisses around my navel.

I was now mostly erect, and my dick throbbed with each of her kisses. Her left hand slowly moved down, releasing my shirt as her fingers slid an inch or so below the waistline of my pants. She pulled her head away from my stomach as her right hand dropped the shirt and moved down to the fly of the jeans. She rubbed the front of my jeans to feel my growing member pressing against the fabric, her wrist turning inward and her hand cupping as lightly gripped and stroked my stiff penis. Her face tilted up as she looked into my eyes for another long moment. Without breaking eye contact, she unbuttoned and unzipped my fly and pulled down my jeans.

The sight of this sexy woman looking up at me, as my erection sprang from the waistline of my pants and surged against my boxer briefs, was almost beyond belief. Melissa finally broke eye contact to look forward at my crotch, smiling lustily as she grabbed my cock through my boxer briefs. She rubbed up and down it, achingly slowly, and I let out a low moan.

With her left hand, she tugged my underwear down. My cock, now fully erect, sprang from underneath the waistband. Melissa wrapped her hand around the base of my above-average sized dick. She leaned forward and licked the head with her moist tongue, circling it lightly at first and then lapping at it. She wrapped her lips around the shaft just below the head and swirled her tongue around it. I moaned again, softly, and ran my fingers through her hair to tuck it behind her ear.

Melissa took more of my cock into her mouth and began slowly bobbing her head, her wet mouth sending shivers up and down my now rock-hard member. I looked down and watched her give me the best blowjob of my life. I couldn't believe this was finally happening, after years of fantasizing about it.

She took my balls in her left hand, bouncing them up and down a few times before cradling and gently squeezing them. Pausing to suck and lick my cock head, Melissa looked up and caught me watching. The corners of her perfect lips turned up, and the lusty look in her eyes further fueled a primal urge inside me.