Memories are a funny thing. You can remember the color of the blouse you wore your first day of high school 28 years later, and not the one you had on yesterday. A song on the radio, an aroma, an old TV episode on late night, all can bring rushing back long forgotten people, places, and moments in time from your past. Memories that seemed so important then, but somehow over time, become dormant, only to resurface as part of the DNA of your existence.

It is the first holiday in our new location. The “not so little one” is settled into his new school. He still misses his old friends but otherwise has adjusted well. Michael is doing well with his new career. He switched in order to be home more with our son. He still travels on average, 2 nights a week, but that is a mere pittance to when he was flying the corporate bigwigs all around the country. I’ve grown restless as a stay home Mom, now that I have the house in shape, and have begun putting out feelers for a job. I’ve been in the corporate world; quit it in disgust to open my own business, only later to rejoin it. Now, yet again, I feel the need building inside me. Maybe one day I’ll know what I want to do when I grow up.

I was sorting through the mail, still a couple of hours before schools out. Junk mail, a couple of bills, still some stuff for the previous homeowner, and two Christmas cards compile the stack. I open the one on top and it’s from Chris and Deb, good friends back in Texas. I pick up the second one. Its postmark is from someplace in Wisconsin. I can’t think of a soul that we know there, and tear it open. A picture falls from the card. In it a boy, around 7 or 8, I’d guess, and a girl maybe 5, smile at me, standing in front of a Christmas tree. The boy resembles someone, but I just can’t figure out who. I read the card.

“Took me years to track you guys down. I’ve moved 4 times, and what, 3 times for you? These
are my kids, Jacob and Margo. Never thought I’d be able to say that. Let me hear from you.

Love you guys,
Barry”

Barry had been a co-worker of mine years ago. Michael and I had been married only a few years and we became great friends with several of the people I worked with, including Barry and his wife Cindi. We would get together at someone’s house at least once a month, go to Happy Hour almost weekly. Group ski vacations, rent a house on the beach, pro and college sports weekends, we did it all. Barry was the unofficial social director, always planning something. He was from the mid-west, had those Midwestern values, the type person that the term “Good as Gold” was meant for. I left the company for another position but our group remained intact; adding a few members, some moving on, but the 8 or so core members remained constant. We went through births, divorce, and a tragic death that still brings me to tears after all the time that has passed.

The Christmas card had opened the floodgates of a memory I thought I’d keep buried forever. I sat down on the couch and it all came into focus as if it just occurred.

It started when Barry’s company was downsized. He was not put out of a job, but he and Cindi were forced to relocate to another state. We had a huge going away party for them but we all knew we would still see each other from time to time. Around 8 months passed and I got a call from Barry one evening.

“We are moving back!”

Another position had opened up and Barry had taken it. He needed a favor though. Because it had been less than a year since he had moved, and taking this position was voluntary, the company was not going to pay for any of their expenses except the moving van.

“Can I stay with you and Michael, while Cindi stays here until we sell the house, to help keep our expenses down? I’ll just drive back every other weekend. I’ll help with utilities and food.”

“Don’t be silly. We have a spare bedroom at the front of the house with a full bath. It’s yours as long as you need it. And don’t you dare insult us by offering money. I am glad to help a friend with anything you need.”
Two weeks later Barry arrived. It was clear immediately that something was bothering him. Both Michael and I noticed he just wasn’t himself. I asked him one day about it and he just said it was the strain of the move and being apart from Cindi. I let it drop and we sort of settled into a routine. Often times I’d never even see Barry. He would stay late at the office and Michael and I would be in bed watching TV and hear him come in. Other nights we would watch TV or play cards together. Occasionally when Michael was traveling, Barry and I would go out to dinner, he being very aware of my distaste for cooking, and my distasteful cooking.

It was about a month later, Barry came back from one of his bi-monthly visits with Cindi. He seemed more upset than ever. He actually avoided us for the first few days back. Friday evening Barry was sitting out on our deck alone. Michael wanted to leave him alone but I wouldn’t. I convinced Michael to open a bottle of wine while I grabbed 3 glasses and we joined him on the deck. We were silent as Michael poured the wine, Barry looking out over the pond behind our house. I went to hand him his glass and he looked at me. His eyes were filled with tears.

“Cindi left me for somebody else.”

Michael and I were both to stunned to speak.

“We haven’t had sex in over 6 months. She didn’t want to move from here in the first place, and I thought she was suffering from depression, having to be away from her family for the first time in her life, so I didn’t push it. Last weekend, after she turned away from me again, I asked her if she needed to see someone, either a doctor or psychologist. She told me she was seeing someone, that she had a lover and that she was leaving me and moving in with him.”

Tears were pouring down his cheeks now and I went and hugged him. Michael, having guy syndrome, called Cindi a bitch, and walked over and topped off Barry’s wine glass. Slowly he began to compose himself and we all started reminiscing, much as you do when grieving a death, and soon, even some laughter was shared, along with 2 more bottles of wine, to the point that we were all a little tipsy. Barry went inside to use the bathroom and when he came back out he said,

“Damn, it’s almost 1AM. Thanks for being here guys, but I’m headed to bed.”

Michael grabbed the empty bottles and I the glasses and we headed inside. Barry headed up to his room at the front of the house and I went to our bedroom and into the bath to wash my face and brush my teeth before bed, as Michael finished the kitchen and turned off the lights. He was sitting on the side of the bed, deep in thought, as I walked back into the bedroom and opened the door to my large walk-in closet. We have two in our bedroom, one filled with my stuff, and the other mostly filled with my stuff. I look for some pajamas when Michael walks in behind me.

“Why not put this on?”

He has selected a sheer baby doll.

I giggle, still feeling the effects of the wine.

“Poor baby, Barry has gone 6 months without and 24 hours is about to kill you?” I joke.

“I mean wear it for Barry.”

“What?”

“He hasn’t had a woman in 6 months.”

“And you want him to have me!”

“No. Just give him something to think about when he jacks off.”

“I don’t want to tease him, that wouldn’t be fair with all he’s going through.”

“Okay, so maybe you jack him off.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, sure, maybe, I think so.”

For as long as I can remember, my sexuality has been a major force in my life. While not losing my virginity until the ripe old age of 18, I was, and still am, always very curious about all matters sexual. I’m really not sure where that comes from. My Dad is a saint, but came from a generation that views sex as something never spoken of, most especially to a daughter. My Mother had a rough childhood, and seemed to always resent me for some reason. Often verbally abusive, the closest she came to discussing sex with me was yelling at me that my shorts and skirts were too short, and I looked like a slut. I’m not a religious person per se’, I don’t have a puritanical view of sex. I have always been a little more open to things than perhaps some others would be. The man I married has much the same views, and is governed much more by thought than emotion, and with some strong sexual demons of his own, that have allowed me to explore a little, while still within a very happy, strong relationship. That’s part of the reason this conversation was not so totally out of the blue.

“I don’t know if I could do it if I want to, and I certainly don’t know that I want to.”

“He use to flirt with you all the time”

“Probably because you were always ogling Cindi’s big boobs.”

“That night at the Pelican Club, he had both his hands on your ass while you danced.”

“Yes, and he was so drunk if he didn’t, he would have fell flat on his face.”

“He really needs a spark now… you saw how upset he was”

“You wouldn’t be jealous?”

“Probably, but since it’s my idea…just put it on and go in his room. If something happens, it happens. If it doesn’t no harm.”

Michael was playing on my two weaknesses, an overwhelming need to always make things better and amazingly bad judgment after drinking. I slipped out of my clothes and into the baby doll. I stood in front of the mirror. To say it was revealing was an understatement. I’ve had suntans that covered more skin than this. My breasts in plain view, with a tie string between them barely holding the material together, with my nipples hard and pushing out through the sheer material. I walk to the dresser and search for the panties that go with it. I slide them up my legs. They conceal nothing as well.

“Are you sure? Things could get out of hand.”

Michael walks to me and kisses me hard on the mouth.

“I love you, I trust you. See what happens.”

I left the safety of our bedroom and walk towards the front of the house unsure of where this will end up. Twice I stop and turn around, but finally I’m at the front of the house. The door to Barry’s room is closed but light is coming beneath it. I gently knock.

“Yes?”

“Barry, can I come in for a minute?”

“Just a sec, okay, come on in.”

I took a huge breath and opened the door and stepped into the room, illuminated by a nightstand lamp beside the bed. Barry is sitting up in bed, the cover at his waist, a magazine sitting across his lap.

Barry’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

“Jesus, Rach you can’t come in here dressed like that. You are killing me. Get out before Michael sees you, gets the wrong idea, and kills us both.”

“It’s his idea.”

“What do you mean it’s his idea? What are…”

Barry stops in mid-sentence and remains silent. I see his eyes well again and a tear break free and roll down his cheek. I move to the side of the bed and sit down. I wipe the tear off his cheek. He rises up off his pillow and stares into my eyes for moment before he begins to softly sob. I wrap my arms around him and pull his head to my chest and hold him, tears running down my face as well. We remain motionless like this for several minutes. Slowly his crying lessens and breathing slows. His head tilts every so slightly in my arms and I can feel his warm breath on a nipple. I move a hand up through his hair on the back of his head and pull him to me.

“It’s okay.”

Barry’s lips nuzzle my nipple through the thin covering. Tentative at first, as if afraid, he pulls slightly away from it. Once more I pull him to me. My emotions are in freefall while my body is numb. His mouth covers my nipple again. This time I feel him kiss it, moving against me with more force. Lightly at first, he begins to suck on my nipple, then harder. His breathing is becoming deeper, more ragged. I drop one hand down onto his bare torso and lightly circle my fingers across his skin. I brush a finger over one of his nipples and he jumps, while his mouth sucks even harder on my own. I brush the other and he jumps again. This time he brings a hand up and squeezes my other breast while his mouth continues its attention. I can sense the pressure building inside him, the dam about to burst. My emotions are beginning to take a backseat as well, I’m becoming less and less a married woman sharing an intimate moment with a good friend, but rather a sexual woman being overcome by the building passion and primal need of a man.

I untie the bow holding my brief covering together and pull it apart. Barry releases my nipple reluctantly from his lips, long enough for me to move the material, then tries to swallow my breast in whole. He wraps a hand around it, and squeezes nearly half of it into his mouth, first sucking hard on my erect nipple, then lashing it with his tongue before switching to the other. I try to take some control of the rapidly escalating situation by pushing Barry back down on the bed and kissing his own nipples while lightly stroking my fingertips across his bare stomach to the top of the gym shorts he is wearing, then across the bulge in those shorts. He lays back and allows me to tease him for the moment. I circle my tongue across his nipple before gently biting it. Barry is pushing his groin up, trying to force firmer contact between my fingertips and his erection. I move to work on his other nipple, partially rising up onto my knees to reach it. I clamp down on the hard little pebble and suck it into my mouth. Barry moves under me slightly and I feel his hand come up across my ass, the tiny thong covering nothing. He caresses first one cheek, then the other before squeezing my ass tightly in his large hand as if palming a piece of fruit, then his hand slides lower and covers my pussy.

I grind my mound into his hand as he manipulates his fingers, pushing my panty up, into my now wet lips. I squirm, in a feeble, half-hearted effort to escape his probing fingers. Barry takes my movement as encouragement and slips first one, then a second, finger inside me and slowly begins to stroke them in and out of me. I allow Barry to continue as my body responds to the stimulation. I leave his nipple and begin to kiss down his stomach, slowly. He removes his fingers from my pussy and grabs my leg, pulling me around until I am straddling his face, my face inches from his bulging gym shorts. I lower my mouth and lightly bite his erection through the material. Barry moans his approval as I grab the waistband and slide the shorts down. His cock comes into view. I kiss it with little nibbles as each inch is exposed, until it pops completely free of the shorts which I push down as far as I can, and Barry squirms and gets them off one leg. He is longer than Michael but not as thick. My observations are quickly forgotten as Barry places his mouth over my pussy and sucks me through the thin material before his fingers grab the material, push it aside, and buries his tongue between my wet lips. I wrap my hand around his cock and slowly slide him between my lips, raking my teeth and tongue across his taunt, sensitive head.

He pulls away from my pussy and frees his cock from my mouth.

“It’s been to long. I can’t stand it.”

He maneuvers our bodies until I am on my back. He reaches down and slides my panties off, joining my baby doll on the floor. Barry moves up over me, the head of his cock slips easily into my wetness, and he eases his dick into me. He doesn’t even get all the way in before he cries out,

“God I’m coming.”

I can feel his cock spasm inside me, his hot cum pouring into me as if from a faucet. I pull his head down to me and hold him tightly until the spasms slow and then end. He rolls off of me and grabs my arm. He is still hard. Barry pulls me onto my side and moves behind me. He pulls my leg up and enters me from behind, sliding effortlessly into my pussy, dripping with our combined juices. He pumps slowly in and out of me, with one hand, squeezing a breast and pinching a nipple, while the other holds my hip as leverage to push deeper inside me. I move my hand down and rub my clit as Barry increases the pace of his thrusts. I feel my own climax building. I circle my clit with two fingers rapidly, pushing me over the edge. My pussy walls clamp down on Barry’s hard cock, sending his cum shooting into me yet again. After we both are through, an embarrassed silence fills the room. We look at each other, knowing everything has changed, even though it will never happen again.

I get off the bed and head back to my bedroom, leaving my things on the floor. I enter the bedroom and Michael is laying on the bed, waiting for my return. He starts to say something, looks at my naked body, and is silent. We stare at each other for a moment, I walk to his side of the bed, climb over him, and straddle his face with my open legs, and lower my pussy to his mouth.

I throw the Christmas card into the basket with all the others, put my sweatshirt on, and head out the door. Schools out in 10 minutes.

Nice Story. You're right == the strangest things can spark memories good and not so good. Again - Nice story.

Great as usual!

We always appreciate the effort and detail you put into your stories, and we wish we could see new ones more often.

J&J

quote:

We always appreciate the effort and detail you put into your stories, and we wish we could see new ones more often.

I feel the same about your stories. It's funny, sometimes I have several ideas at once and don't know which way to go, then other times I go quite a while where nothing appeals enough to write about.