A Reunion in London

Let me tell you a little about Christine. She was vibrant, blindingly intelligent--which translated into a sharp wit and wonderfully sarcastic sense of humor. She was gorgeous: short, pixie cut dark hair, a delicate ring adorning her cute nose, dark piercing eyes, a stinging body: wide, womanly hips, gorgeous perky b-cups topped by dark, sensuous nipples, and smooth, creamy pale skin. And she always wore bright right lipstick on her beautiful little mouth. Not everybody's type of girl, but the first time I saw her, I wanted to know more. We dated for a long time in university in the states. My best friend moved into the house she was living in, we met, we talked, we drank, and we started getting closer. Eventually (actually after about two weeks) we started having sex, and that was that. She was by no means my first lay, but for all intents and purposes, she was. I'd had several long-term girlfriends before her; even ones that were pretty crazy in the bedroom, but nothing like Christine. We explored each other immensely, and explored our likes and dislikes, and our boundaries. Even years after things went south, I still felt she was the best sex I had ever had, and a part of me still loved her deeply.

But, things happened, we parted ways, there was always a great connection, albeit contentious and tumultuous. I had ended up living across Europe for most of my time after university. There was a lot of aimless wandering, a couple of ski seasons in the Alps, summers crewing for rich men and their mistresses on yachts in the med. It was a pretty glorious existence for the most part. But, money caught up to me, and I needed to finish out some sort of education. So, I returned to London, where I'd lived for a year during undergrad, to get a law degree. That took a while, because there was still quite a bit of travelling and wandering in my life, but I eventually did it. Then, I found a job in a respectable firm and have been living in north London since-a pretty comfortable life at that.

It wasn't long after having settled into a new place in Islington, I was at this nice bar in an area called Angel, having a night out with some old mates from my earlier university life in London. It was a 'my treat' kind of night. We all did our share of fucking about after uni, but I was the only one with a substantial, real-money-making job. So it was a pleasure to see the old mates from across Europe and show them a good time. We had been drinking for quite a while, and were pretty tuned up having a great time on the dance floor. I was Dancing with my old friend Emily, a sultry little redhead. I had been in love with her for a long time during undergrad, but she always had a boyfriend, now fiancé, whom became one of my best friends. Nonetheless, we always had a very flirty relationship.

As we were dancing, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and an eerily familiar voice said,

"James?"

I turned around, and I couldn't believe my eyes. It was Christine, still looking as gorgeous as I remembered her. And I remembered her well-- along with my study of politics, philosophy and law, I also got a degree in art, with a focus on photography. I thought of Christine as my muse for a long time, so I had an extensive collection of beautiful nude pictures of her, some of the exceedingly explicit. Even years after we'd parted, I'd still occasionally break open the digital archives or my big black portfolio and stroke myself to her glorious form, immortalized in greyscale.

I was staring at her blankly, unable to believe my eyes. It had been probably five years since I had seen her, and she didn't look a day older.

She looked a bit confused. "It's not possible that you don't remember me..."

I cut her off. : Don't remember you? Are you serious? I'm just trying to figure out if somebody spiked my drink and I'm hallucinating this, or you're actually here. What the hell are you doing in London, the last I heard of you, you were somewhere in South America researching monkeys or something like that?"

A smile started to turn at the corner of her lips, "Oh ya, I did that for about 18 months as a part of my studies. But I transferred here to King's to finish out my PhD. What the hell are you doing here? The last I heard of you, you were gallivanting across the Med in rich dudes yachts or something ridiculous like that" she said, that sharpness in her hadn't gone away either.

I started to chuckle a bit. "I was doing that for a good long while. And leading tours in the Alps, but I've been livin' in London for a while now. I got my law degree, and now I've got a job here."

She looked astounded. "You? James? Settling down before the age of 35? Before the age of 50 for that matter? Man, maybe somebody spike my drink, I don't know if I believe what I'm hearing!"

I was laughing out loud at this point, and I coyly responded, "Well, I don't know if 'settled down' is the right word," looking around the bustling bar and holding up my drink, "but I've definitely become a bit less nomadic and picked up a few more responsibilities...But man, it's really nice to see you! I really can't believe it. Can I like, give you a hug or something"

"Of course!" she almost shouted and threw her arms around my neck. I melted. I hadn't felt her body close to mine in so long. I had spent the last seven years trouncing around Europe, it wasn't like I wasn't getting laid, but there was always something about this girl that just did something to me.

We embraced for a good long while, and parted, both of us smiling.

Almost lost for words, I finally blurted out, "Well, can I buy you a drink or something. The guy at the bar definitely knows what he's doing."

She looked at her watch, and looked sad. "It's almost midnight, so I really have to run and get the train. I really don't want to have to take the night bus home from North London"

"Well, if you want, I can give you a ride home, where do you live?

"Wait a second, you have a car? In London? Well, you of all people would, I don't even think I want to know what it is. I live down in Holborn, so not too far. Can you even drive? How much have you had to drink?" She snipped.

"Oh I kind of came across the car by accident. I couldn't pass it up. But this is my first one. I had a late night at the office, making up for a long weekend in Zagreb, so I'd love to buy you a drink and catch up, then I can definitely swing you down to Holborn" I said trying to sound as casual as possible, and conceal the rising erection that the mere touch of her skin our hug had elicited.

"So you definitely haven't settled down." She said with a smirk. "I'd like that, it would be really nice to catch up, and I would much rather get a ride than have to run for the tube."

I was elated, and interested to see where this may go. "Excellent! What's your poison?"

"They have any decent bourbon here?"

That they do, I'll be right back." I knew she just genuinely liked bourbon, but it was curious, because that's what we would always drink together. The first night I seduced her, we were up until the wee hours of the morning drinking bourbon and talking about something disgustingly academic like Foucault. Nonetheless, I almost ran to the bar and retrieved two Knob Creeks, rocks.

We chatted for a good while and enjoyed our bourbon. We caught up about our lives for the past years. What we've been doing, studying, everything. As slyly as I could, I got it out of her that she was single (best news of the night). I just couldn't control myself. We hadn't spoken in years, and things ended pretty poorly between us--with the amount of passion between the two of us, there was always fighting as well. But just seeing her brought back so many memories, and I wanted her more than ever.

Another round was had, and we continued chatting. The topic turned slowly towards sex. It was almost inevitable.

She looked at me dead in the eyes, with a fierce and fiery look, "So, James, all those years ago, all those pictures you took of me, do you still have them?" I was a bit taken aback. "Ahhh, well, I mean....yes. I wouldn't get rid of them. I mean, don't be worried, they haven't gone anywhere else, no one other than myself has ever seen them, but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of them. Does that bother you, I can get rid of them if you would like." I was fumbling with my words, trying to stay calm. I never get nervous around women, but seeing Christine, and her asking me about the pictures I had taken of her years ago was making me sweat bullets.

She took a long, sensual sip of her drink, and responded, "No, you don't need to that. They're your photographs. It's been a long time, but I still trust you with them."

I was so relieved.

The conversation went on steering to and away from sex for a good hour. I was so turned on. She was just like I remembered her, but she seemed a bit calmer, more composed, and a lot more forward sexually. It turned me on to no end. I needed to do something, and nothing in this bar was helping me. I saw her glance at her watch.

"It's getting a bit late isn't it?" I said. "Should I get you back to Holborn?"

"I suppose so."

We grabbed our coats and headed out the front door. There was only one car parked out front, and she assumed it couldn't be mine. "Where's your car?"

I walked up to the passenger door of the low, midnight blue machine parked in front, put the key in and opened the door. It was my '62 Aston Martin DB4 Zagato, my prized possession. I had a good job, but it wasn't rare, vintage sports car good. On of my years spent in the Med had led me to it. One of the many absurdly wealthy gentlemen I had crewed for fell on hard times. He owed me for the most of the season still, but didn't really have the funds to pay me. He was liquidating his car collection, so he took me into his garage and said, "Pick one." Every single one of them was worth well more than he owed me, and to this day I think he may have wanted to give me one for some sort of tax evasion reason. It didn't matter to me, though, because I got the deed in my name. So, anyway, it was mine now.

Christine started walking towards the car. "No fucking way! This is yours? I knew you were always into cars, and you said you had a good job, but how?"

"Well, it's a long story. But it was a gift. I didn't pay a dime for it. I have a

really

good job, but it's not that good. But, it's mine" I said with a smirk on my face. In my experience, car people are dicks, especially ones who show off their vintage cars. But, I'm ok with being a dick, because no matter what the woman, it's very hard to resist a beautiful vintage sports car.

So I hopped in, and opened up the engine and blasted towards Holborn.

We had driven mostly in silence, the sound of the engine and the wind taking over. I could tell she was nonetheless enjoying herself. When we arrived at her place, she looked at me, that same fiery look in her eyes.

"Look James, I really want to invite you inside. It's stupid, it's been years since I've seen you, but I want to. The thing is, I have roommates, two of them. So it really wouldn't work tonight."

I almost shouted with joy. I liked the newfound forwardness. I smiled, threw the car into first, looked at her, "That's not a problem, I've got my own place." She threw me a knowing glance, but didn't protest. With that, I flew back northward. Again not a word, but she reached her hand across the console and rested her hand on my thigh as I drove. My hard on was clearly straining against my jeans as I drove--I could see her glancing at it out of the corner of her eye as I drove. Her hand was fidgety, and I could tell she was excited.

We arrived back at my place in no time--the streets had pretty much emptied out by that time of night, so I could keep the throttle open and fly through roundabouts. When we arrived, both of us basically ran to my door. I was so excited that I fumbled with my keys. When I finally got the door, and the door closed, we were on each other. Our mouths were buried in each other's, a kiss as passionate as we often shared years before. We pressed our bodies together with immense force. We started fumbling towards the stairs, and ripping off each other's clothes. When we reached the door to my bedroom, she was just in her bra and panties, and me just in my boxers--the rest of our clothes were strewn on the stairs.

I gracefully threw her onto my bed. She was wear gorgeous black lingerie: lacy and revealing.

"Since when to post docs wear hot lingerie?" I joked, admiring her body. It was just as gorgeous as I remembered. It was like she hadn't aged a day. She had, however, gotten the small airplane tattoo that graced her ribcage removed.

"Oh, some of us do. Since when do young attorneys drive vintage sports cars and have an absurdly large bed?" She shot back.

I jumped on top of her, and we started passionately again, as I began to grind my cock through my boxers against her pussy. Even through two layers of fabric, I could feel how hot and wet her sex was. Our hands roamed all over each other's bodies, and I reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She shrugged it off her shoulders and threw it aside. I stopped for a moment to admire her breasts, a smirk on my face, before I dropped my head and took one of her nipples between my lips and began to lick and suck on it. She grabbed my head and forced it harder into her breast. She always used to like it rough, so I hoped that was an invitation.

I took her nipple between my teeth, and bit down. Not too hard, but enough for her to know it. She moaned loudly.

She grabbed my head and forced my head up. She looked me straight in the eye and harshly whispered, "James, give it to me. Give it to me like we used to. I want it rough, James. Please James!"

I could see the fiery passion in her eyes that I remembered so well. I didn't waist any time. I reached down and ripped her panties off--I could tell they were drenched. I quickly grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. In the same move I position my cock at the entrance to her gleaming pussy. My face inches from her, I looked her in the yes and said, "Are you sure Christine, are you sure that's what you want??"

Her breathing was erratic, and her breasts, with a slight sheen of sweat appearing on them, was heaving against my chest pushing down on her. "Yes, James. Give it to me. Please! Please James!"

With that a swiftly thrusted my ragingly hard cock into her, all the way to the hilt. She was dripping wet, there was no need to go slow. I stayed there for a moment, and she struggled against my arms, and freed her right hand. Still deep in side her, she wrapped her hand around my throat and shouted, "God damn it James! Rough, give it to me rough!"

So I grabbed her hand again and pinned her hands above her head again. I started furiously pounding her, no holds barred. She started wildly bucking against my every thrust, and moaning animalisticly. We were both sweating profusely, lost in our fucking.

She freed her hands once again, wrapped her hands around my back, and dug her nails into my back and scratched me hard. It felt incredible. I growled at her, grabbed with of her tits fiercely, and began twisting both of her nipples.

"Yes James! Yes! More! Twist my nipples more! I'm so fucking close!"

Her body was writhing and thrashing beneath mine. I new she was close without her having to tell me. I couldn't hold on much longer anyhow. Her whole body went rigid and she began to shake as she let out an earth-shattering scream. As I felt her pussy clenching my staff, and a torrent of wetness surrounding it, I let out my own deep groan, and exploded within her.

After what seemed like ages, I slowly rolled off of her. We both laid there in silence, or breath heavy and both covered in sweat and sex.

I slowly looked over to her. "Christine, I'm so glad I ran into you tonight."

"I know. Me too. " She said with a coy smile.

Then we both passed out, exhausted.