Summer Romance Never Forgotten 04

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We all have a lost love.

A kiss that lasted for forty years.

A first time for everything, no woman had ever kissed him first before he kissed her. He wanted to kiss her but, having just met the woman not even an hour ago, he didn't want to rush her or pressure her. He was afraid.

Fearing that he'd ruin things before talking to her and getting to know her better, with most women wanting to take things slow, he was afraid to prematurely make a sexual move on her. Besides with her so drop dead gorgeous, he didn't have the confidence that she'd want him as much as he wanted her. Not that he was a bad looking man, considered good looking actually, but why would someone who looks like her want someone who looks like him when obviously she could have anyone.

As if having an out of body experience, with him somewhere up on "cloud nine," while looking down and watching her kissing him, he still couldn't believe that she kissed him. She kissed him. Emma kissed him.

If he dreamt of her kissing him, he couldn't have had a better dream than this one memory that she left him to cherish for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, it was an incomplete memory without closure for him to heal his broken heart. With him forever loving her, he'd always wonder if she forever loved him too. Cursed to remember her and her first kiss forever, he'd never forget her or that first kiss.

'My God. What a woman? Such an incredible woman. What an unbelievable woman? Emma, I love you,' he said hearing his words echo through his head before resonating in the hole of his empty heart. 'I love you. I love you. I love you. Emma, I love you.'

In hindsight, in love with her at first sight, not taking no for an answer, sounding preposterous then but not as much now, he should have asked her to marry him. Only, with her only 19-years old and with him 25-years-old, if he had asked her to marry him, she may have thought he had lost his mind and obviously he did when she kissed him. Yet, she was the one who kissed him almost immediately after meeting him and he didn't think that she had lost her mind.

If he thought anything, he thought that she was the best thing that ever happened to him. If he thought anything, he realized that he had the chance to ask her to be with him for the rest of their lives and blew it by not acting on his impulses and going after her no matter what her father said. Only, she was so very young and he was so much older. Now with him 65-years-old and her 59-years-old, their ages wouldn't matter now as much as it mattered then.

Yet, in the eyes of her father he was a loser. Just as he was then, he still is now, a nothing and a no one. He was just a working stiff who couldn't give her the lifestyle she had grown accustomed to living with her being Daddy's rich, little girl. He didn't stand a chance of marrying her.

If anything, her father had done him a favor by shipping her off to school to Europe. Only, who knew he'd fall so hard for her? Who knew, after he left her that he'd lust over her? Who knew, after she had left that he'd love her and pine over the loss of her for the next forty years? Who knew that he'd still think of her now after all of these years? Seemingly a one-sided love affair not meant to be, he wished he could forget her but he can't; he just can't. He still doodles her name while wondering where she is, who she is with, and what she is doing.

'Emma. Where are you?'

* * * * *

So long ago, a lifetime ago, it is sometimes so difficult to remember every little detail and every single word she said without his imagination getting in the way to fill in his faded memories and change all what really happened. He wondered if she remembered their first kiss in the way that he remembered their first kiss. He wondered if she pined over the loss of him in the way he pined over the loss of her. Curious to know, he wondered how she remembered their first chance meeting on the beach. Curious to know, he wondered why she never tried contacting him in the way he fruitlessly tried contacting her.

Maybe with her seeing things differently from her point of view, she could fill in some of the details that he forgot. In the way that he remembered her well enough to paint her, even now, forty years later, maybe she didn't remember him at all. Maybe, in the way that he'd never forget her, she completely forgot him. For her to make such an impression on him and for her to not even remember him, how sad is that? Tragically and pathetically it was such a waste of his life to have focused so much of his thoughts and energy on her instead of on Lorraine, his wife, and on Cynthia, his daughter.

'Emma.'

With him thinking that she was a good, well-bred woman, for her to scandalously kiss him in the way she did when just meeting him, maybe she was a slut. With him thinking that she was a moral woman and a God fearing woman, for her to remove her bikini top in the way she did and have sex with him, perhaps she was nothing but a whore. Instead of her being a woman with class, maybe she had a bad reputation of sexually enticing and teasing every man she met. If judging her from the partial blowjob she gave him, the best blowjob he's ever had in his life, this definitely wasn't her first blowjob. She was certainly not a virgin.

Maybe her bad, sexual behavior was a common occurrence and her downfall. Maybe the reason why her father shipped her off to Europe was because he didn't want her getting pregnant by some loser like him. Maybe her father knew her better than he did and obviously he did for him to take such swift action in forever removing her from him. Maybe her own father thought that his daughter was a slut and a whore too and it was only a matter of time before she embarrassed the family. Maybe she had already embarrassed their family many times before and seeing him having sex with her was the last straw. Maybe, at the very least, her father wanted her to have a college education and the knowledge to make better and more mature decisions. Maybe her father was having a sexual, incestuous affair with his daughter that Robert didn't know they were having.

Only, with her father not there to monitor and supervise her bad, sexual behavior, and with her no longer a child, she could still be a slut and a whore in Europe as much as she could be a slut and a whore in the United States. No doubt she runs with a different circle of friends, rich friends, people of wealth, class, and distinction that if she did become pregnant, at least she'd be impregnated by someone with money. If she did get pregnant, perhaps she'd have an abortion. Perhaps she had an abortion already.

Just as it sexually excited him to think of Emma as a slut and a whore, it hurt his head for him to think of her as a slut and a whore. He hated thinking of her in that derogatory way. If she was a slut and a whore for kissing him, then he was a slut and a whore for returning her kiss. If she was a slut and a whore for sucking his cock then he was a slut and a whore for eating her pussy. Besides, he'd much rather think of her as his slut and whore rather than thinking of her as someone else's slut and whore.

Yet, with her, no doubt, married to someone else, she was now her husband's slut and whore and not his. An hour after he met her, she acted as if she was his slut and whore and he liked that about her. Never had he experienced a woman so sexually aggressive. Only, obviously now, but for that one moment in time, she'd never be his slut and whore again. As excited by sexually experiencing her then, he was saddened by the loss of her now.

'Emma. Where are you?'

The only memory he had of her was his first time he saw her and the first time, the only time, he was with her. The best memories he had of her was not the sex but seeing her in the distance walking on the beach. She was wearing a blue bikini. The color of her bikini complimented her blue black hair. She was picking up seashells, rinsing them in the water and then putting them in her plastic bag. Then, there was that kiss, that unbelievable first kiss.

When she kissed him, he was surprised by her kiss. When she kissed him, she blanked his mind. When she kissed him, in the way a woman must feel when a man kisses her for the first time, he felt vulnerable. An involuntary reaction, he felt pressured to return her kiss. Only, too surprised to react, as if he was immersed in a dream or had fallen under her spell, he didn't return her kiss until she kissed him again. When she kissed him, he felt weak in the knees. Then, when he finally returned her kiss, he was in love.

Actually, with the first kiss always the most difficult kiss, glad that was out of the way, he liked the feeling of a woman taking control of him for once. He appreciated a strong woman telling him what she wanted instead of him expecting to get what he wanted by groping her while hoping to get to second base. Yet, oddly enough, bizarre even, as if she wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her, never has he been kissed with such sexual passion, especially after just having met a woman. Accustomed to receiving kisses from women who were his relatives and/or his friends, accustomed to receiving polite, first date kisses and kisses goodnight, this kiss was as if they were already lovers.

She didn't just give him a peck on the lips, she kissed him. She really kissed him. She didn't just kiss him, she French kissed him. She gave him a kiss that he could never forget. She gave him a kiss that he'd remember for forty years and, no doubt, until the day he died.

Yet, as if she already knew him, how could she kiss him in such an intimate way when she knew so very little about him? Even more bizarre than that, how could he languish over her for more than forty years when all he knew about her was that she was tall, beautiful, sexy, shapely, and her first name was Emma? Never has he ever met a woman who knew what she wanted as much as he knew what he wanted. As if that kiss was meant to be, it was as if they were together in a previous life. As if that kiss was never meant to be, that one kiss not only sealed his fate but also cursed him to remember her and that kiss over and again for the rest of his sexually frustrated life.

'Emma. I love you. I want you. I need you.'

Yet, how dare she do that to him? Perhaps she had no idea what she did to him. He wished she had never kissed him. As if she was an evil witch who had cast a love spell over him, because of her, he could never be happy with any other woman. Because of her and that one first kiss, he was as doomed to love her as he was haunted by the memory of her. Now he wished he could kiss her just one more time to see if there still remained lover's chemistry and a sexual attraction.

Only with them both forty years older, more mature and more experienced with life now than they were then, even if he was to meet her again and even she remembered him, she'd never kiss him like that again. With whatever that had happened in their lives since that first kiss had changed their definitions of lust, love, sexual excitement, and first, wet kisses. Their perceptions of what is romantic and what is foolish now are much different than they were before. The two people who had come together at a moment in time have grown more apart after a lifetime of not having one another in their lives. What he thought was once romantic then would be foolish daydreams now. Only, he still remembers their first kiss. For as long as he should live, he'd never forget that first kiss.

A first kiss that was a monumental occasion to him then may be nothing more than merely a kiss to her now. Certainly there are much more important things in his life than just a kiss, but that kiss, as if a key to his heart, unlocked feelings he never felt before and had never felt since. Ruining him for all other women, that kiss made him realize what he's missing in his life. Never to be duplicated, that kiss was his special invitation and his chance for eternal happiness but he didn't take it.

Not seeing the kiss for what it was, he didn't reach out and grab the opportunity. As if her kiss was liquid instead of something more tangible, he allowed her to slip through his fingers. He failed to recognize and realize all that her kiss was because of his inexperience, immaturity, and youth. Even though he knew her kiss was a special kiss and she was a special woman, he didn't know the kiss was more than just a kiss. He didn't realize that her kiss was the kiss.

As opposed to the kiss of death, her first kiss, something he'd carry with him and cherish for the rest of his life, was the kiss of love. Now, he regretted not going after her. Now, he regretted not finding her and telling her that he loved her. Now, he regretted living his life without her. With a woman like her so impossibly difficult to find, not only did he find her but also he allowed her to get away. As if his car was stolen, as if he lost his job, as if he heard some bad news about his health, he couldn't feel any worse than he felt with the loss of Emma.

'Emma.'

Not a rich man but comfortable in his retirement, happily content with the smaller things in life after experiencing his biggest regret, he had a good healthcare plan. Only now that he was older, finding the right prescription drug to soothe his ills, ailments, aches, and pains had edged out his need for love, lust, and sex. Yet, with an emptiness deep within him that eats away at his soul, he still thinks of her. He still remembers that first, wet kiss. He still thinks of Emma.

'Emma.'

With him filled with as much happiness as he was filled with pain, Emma was now nothing more than a bittersweet memory. As if he was somehow forever attached to her for the rest of his life, as if they were already married, and destined to have children together, never would he ever forget that first, unbelievable, and unforgettable kiss. Vicariously joined to her forever in some convoluted way, even when separated and not together for so long of a time, that one kiss was his high price to pay for falling in love with her. That one kiss on that fateful day changed how he looked at all women.

No other woman measured up to Emma. He never saw another woman who looked like her, talked like her, walked like her, acted like her, laughed like her, and was as fun to be around as she was. With him bouncing off the walls in his highest high with the thoughts of having her in his life, he bounced off the walls in his lowest lows with the reality of not having her in his life. Catching him at a good time when he was falling, Lorraine caught him on the rebound, picked him up out of the gutter, sobered him up, and ran all the way down the aisle and to the altar with him.

A whirlwind affair, seemingly he didn't even know he was getting married until it was too late. At one point with his mind playing tricks on him, he truly believed he heard the priest say Emma instead of Lorraine. Until he turned to look at his soon-to-be bride, he truly believed he was marrying Emma instead of Lorraine.

Still reeling from the loss of her, he willingly went along for the ride if nothing more than as his diversion to forget Emma. Being with Lorraine and going through the motions of being a loving husband was better than living alone with the ghost of Emma continuing to haunt him for the rest of his life. Only, whether married or now alone as a widower, he didn't know that she'd forever take up permanent residence in his head.

A logical man, he realized his love for Emma was illogical and his love for Lorraine was more appropriate. With her a more comely woman than a rarely beautiful woman, on the outside and on the onset, she seemed better suited for him and more his type. He didn't have to be someone he wasn't when with her. He didn't have to be any better than he always was. He didn't have to justify being with her in the way he needed to justify being with Emma by always trying to be funnier, smarter, and better looking.

Unless he had money and was a good looking as Emma was, she'd always look like his trophy wife. His entrance in a room would always be punctuated with the question mark of how someone who looked like him got someone who looked like her. Only, he was wrong to think that he could ever stop loving Emma by marrying Lorraine. Not fair to either, with his head in the clouds in thinking of Emma, he cheated himself as much as he cheated Lorraine.

Alas, no matter how good he remembered their first kiss being, that one kiss on that fateful day ruined his life. Yet, still holding a flickering candle of hope, that one kiss was his calling card of reintroduction should he ever meet up with her again. Only, he never saw her again. After forty years of the same memories of her playing through his head in the way of a scratched record, the chances of him seeing her again became more doubtful with each passing year.

'Emma, where are you?'

* * * * *

As if she was the man and he was the woman, with her intent of having her wicked, sexual way with him and with her not taking no for answer, she pushed him up against the wall in the reception hall of her house. As if she could read his mind and as if she already knew what he was thinking, she looked him in the eye as if she was a She-Devil and had already owned his soul. She pressed the length of her nearly naked, bikini clad body up against him and gave him a sexy smile before she kissed him again with such passion that she curled his toes and hardened his cock.

She was nearly as tall as he was and he liked looking straight ahead while staring in her violet eyes. As if his prick and her pussy were puzzle pieces separated at birth and by their clothes, but soon to be joined together, he could feel his pulsating cock pushing against her pussy through his jeans and through her bikini bottoms. Never had he kissed a woman as beautiful as her. Never had he felt a woman who had a better body than she did. Never had he yearned, lusted over, loved, and been haunted by any woman in the way he was haunted by Emma.

'Emma.'

Never had he wanted to make love to a woman as much as he had wanted to make love to her. Never had he wanted to fuck a woman as much as he had wanted to fuck Emma. She unleashed feelings deep within him that he never knew he had. Even though he had just met her, she kissed him as if she loved him. She tapped into and awakened a sexual passion in him that lay dormant and hidden deep within him until she kissed him. She kissed him. He couldn't believe she kissed him. Now, that she was gone from his life forever, as if he was a sleeping volcano, he could no longer feel the sexual lust he had welling up from his toes to his brain.

He wanted her. He wanted Emma. He never stopped loving her. He never stopped thinking about her. After thinking about her for forty, long, sexually frustrating years, he needed to stop. As if she had died, he needed to bury the unrequited feeling he had for her. He needed to stop thinking about her. He needed to grow up and finally let her go.

She's gone and he'd never see her again. In the way he imagined her attending his funeral, if she should die first, he'd attend hers. Only, she could be already dead for he knows. How tragic that would be to have her finally find him after he died? How tragic that would be to finally find her after she died? Missing the life he could have had with her, how awful that would be to see her lying in her coffin?

This time, as if they were on their Honeymoon, parting his lips with her tongue, she kissed him, she really kissed him. Emma French kissed him. Every time she French kissed him was as if she French kissed him for the first time. Still reeling in shock, he couldn't believe she French kissed him. Each kiss was better than the last kiss. With him never having been kissed like that before, how could she kiss him like that? What motivated her sexual passion to kiss him in the way that she'd kiss her boyfriend, her lover, or her husband instead of him, an ordinary stranger?