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All characters in this story are over the age of 18-years-old
Summer Romance Never Forgotten, #5
We all have lost a love one and think about what may have been with that person instead of being married to the one we married. As if it all happened yesterday instead of forty years ago, Robert remembered having sex with Emma.
Emma took Robert by the hand and led him down the hallway to her bedroom. As did the other four bedrooms in the house, she had an attached bathroom, her own master suite. Her bedroom looked like something he'd see in a movie or something he'd see in an Architectural Digest magazine. Her bedroom looked like what he imagined a rich, spoiled girl would have as her dream bedroom.
With all of her furniture hardwood, maple and cherry, instead of pressed, particle board, everything looked new and expensive. She had a huge attached bathroom that led into an oversized walk-in closet that had a drawered counter in the middle of the room. She had more clothes than he's seen in the women's section of a department store. Obviously, for her to afford this or rather for her father to afford to spoil her, they were rich.
He remembered being surprised by the car she drove. Seemingly with her wanting for nothing and with her driving a brand new 1975, generation II Mustang, she was rich. He remembered never liking the second generation Mustang but the car she drove was hot. It was a black, anemic Cobra with gold graphics. It was pretty car but with only a 130 horsepower, 302 engine, it was no supercar.
Instead of her room being messy, cluttered, and disorganized, in the way that his bedroom always was, her bedroom was tidy, neat, and organized with everything in its place. Perhaps they had a housekeeper. Perhaps, judging her by her deep, dark tan, she lived on the beach and was never home to mess up her room. For sure, if he lived this close to the beach, he'd be at the beach every day until it was too cold to go. Even in the cold, as long as it wasn't unbearably windy, he'd walk or run the beach every day.
A reflection of her, her bedroom was so feminine looking with everything pink, white, soft, and frilly. Yet, the opposite of that image, her bedroom wasn't the image that she portrayed. She wasn't soft or frilly. She was firm and certainly not plain. A strong woman who knew what she wanted, no shrinking violet, she was no innocent, young woman. She had a big brain behind those eyes. Yet, he saw something more than just her beauty. He saw her pain.
He remembered she had a big dollhouse on a table in the far corner of the room and a doll in a baby carriage. She had dolls displayed all around the room. With her having so many dolls in her room, in the way he had a collection of model cars in his room, he felt as if he was in a little girl's room. With her dolls sending a mixed message, he wondered how old she was. He tried to discern the answer to his question without having to ask her by looking from her to look at her dolls.
Then, when she unbuckled, unzipped, and unbuttoned his jeans again, she returned him back to sexual reality. A woman he had just met on the beach, he was in her house and in her bedroom and about to have sex with her. Too good to be true, what's wrong with this picture? He pulled away from her to zip, button, and buckle his pants. He pulled away from her to stare in her violet eyes. Before they continued, he needed to know how old or how young she was. Yet, unable to look away from her long enough to formulate his question, her eyes mesmerized him and her stare hypnotized him. Never had he met a woman as beautiful as she was.
Wondering again how old she was or actually how young she was, when judging her by her childhood room, she may be younger than she looked and younger than he thought she was. When judging her by her aggressive sexual actions of a mature woman who obviously was no virgin, she was definitely no child. When judging her solely by her beautiful face, she looked so young and so innocent. Yet, when judging her by her shapely, womanly body, she looked so dangerous, too dangerous for him to fall in love with her, especially if she was a minor.
Especially if she was a minor and not an adult, then she was definitely much too dangerous for him. In a quandary wondering how old she was, he couldn't help but wonder if she was a woman or a child? As if trying to learn her age by her beautiful face or by her topless body, studying her as if he was an artist and she was his model, he looked at her more closely. Only distracted by her looks and blinded by her beauty and sexuality, he couldn't see her in the way he needed to see her to ascertain her age. To him, she was just Emma, a beautiful, sexy, dream woman he had just met on the beach.
She was a woman, of course, or was she? He was puzzled by the absurdity that she may be much younger than he suspected her to be. Oh, my God. What if she's not over 18-years-old?
Suddenly he was sick to his stomach. Suddenly he felt as if he was a pedophile robbing the cradle. What if she's a teenager, a mere child, in a woman's body? Oh, my God, having already had sex with her and about to have more sex with her, what if she's a minor?
With her age the only fly in the ointment, this can't be happening. Too good to be true, he knew there had to be something wrong. Women don't approach him. Women don't seduce him. Women don't kiss him first, strip off their clothes, and give him oral sex until he dates them, wines them, dines them, and spends money on them for months.
'Fuck me. I'm fucked. I'm totally fucked. What if she's a minor? What do I do now?'
Unable to leave her, as if she was a wicked, raven haired witch who had cast an evil spell on him, he didn't know if he should flee or stay. Once again, with him feeling as if she was the man and he was the woman, not taking no for an answer, not that he would ever say no to her kissing him, she kissed him again. With that one, long, wet kiss sealing his fate, she erased all speculation of her age from his mind. Now it didn't matter how old she was. He didn't care how old she was. He was falling in love with her.