Author's Foreword: This series has themes of romance, sex, friendship, humor, safe and consensual BDSM, and above all, intimacy and the concept of memory. Any resemblance to real people or events is coincidental. I want you, reader, to come away with more empathy, appreciation, and joy for yourself and others than you began. As I did when writing this.
***Early Summer****
Erin always shimmers in my memories, like ice crystals on a windy winter evening.
I settled myself in the wingback chair and placed our two beverages on the side-table next to me. Neither of us cared much for drinking, so they were mainly ceremonial. One whiskey on the rocks for me and a half-measure of gin with a splash of tonic and two lime wedges for her. The best I could filch from my parent's cabinet that summer home from college.
We were in my old bedroom, which my parents had converted into a guest room about an hour after I'd crossed the high school graduation stage. I had cleaned it within an inch of its life before she came over, but there was nothing I could do about the popcorn ceiling or outdated everything. At least my parents had the grace to leave frequently on trips. Midday sunlight tried to leak into the room around heavy curtains, and small dust motes drifted in the few errant columns of honey-like air.
She was confident in her athletic figure and choice of clothes: a white-and-gold, fish scale sequin dress, cut a little above the knee and bare at the arms. As I said, she shimmered. Her hands rested on her slightly cocked hips as she ignored the room to look me over.
I could see her lips glisten and eyes shine when she smiled at me, sliding one hand down her side and starting to slink over to my chair. If you ever get a chance to be with a skilled dancer, particularly a ballerina: do it. Everything they do roasts your heart with beauty and leaves an appreciation for grace. Sadly, that also tends to happen when you inevitably part ways.
I wore a pair of sleek black dress pants and a black button-down shirt. I had last worn the shirt in high school, and it had become extremely tight in the shoulders, neck, and arms, so in a last-minute panic before she arrived I had ditched my tie, undone the neck and top buttons, and neatly folded the sleeves up to my elbows. Both of us were barefoot, which meant she was well below five feet tall and I was a towering five foot eight. We were both lean, strong, and well-formed. Eager and ready.
Youth was not wasted on us.
***
I put my leg out invitingly and watched her sink down to sit side-saddle in my lap, adjusting her dress unnecessarily to briefly show that she wore nothing underneath. We clinked glasses and sipped, watching each other, waiting for the next or perhaps right moment. The chair creaked slightly as she shifted her modest weight.
"You look handsome," she said with a smirk, "For a former band geek."
"How did you know?" I asked with a grin.
"Same scratchy black shirt every guy had to buy for orchestra," she said, rubbing my collar between her fingers, "And I saw your old trumpet case in the corner over there. But you do actually look handsome, for what it's worth. Even if the shirt doesn't fit at all anymore."
Dammit, I adored her brain. We'd make some amazing kids. A little unsettled, I squashed the thought like a bug on a wall.
"You look like moonlight in that dress," I said, "I bet it's even better at night."
"Absolutely," she said before drinking all of her small glass, "But that's because where you're concerned, it's usually on you or the floor." Her perfume was briefly overpowered by juniper and paint thinner, then returned in force as she ran a hand through her incredible, ringleted hair.
"And you're wearing it now because?" I asked. I had meant it as a teasing question for why it wasn't on the floor, but she took it as to why she'd worn it in particular.
"I wanted to," she said, pivoting slightly to face away from me, "And I like how you notice things, see me, talk to me. This was already one of my favorite dresses, but then you said I looked 'like moonlight 'in it and now it's my new favorite. Anyway, I think you asked me for a favor?" She lightly pressed her ass against my crotch, not wanting to grind for the sake of the sequins.
So the game had started.
"No," I corrected, struggling to focus and trying not to show it, "I instructed you to work on something. For your benefit and mine."
"Of course," she said with a brief, full-body shiver, "An assignment. Silly me. Well, I think I've done very well with that. Couple times a day, in fact, Daddy."
"Smoke," I said gently.
"Oops, sorry," she said with a quick glance over her shoulder, "Thanks for the reminder. Couple times a day, in fact, like I said." I nodded approvingly and we went on.
She stretched up to brush her cheek against mine. I could tell she was smiling, that her pulse was quickening. I put my hand around her waist and brought her close for a long, warming, backward-leaning kiss.
"Think I'll finally be able to get inside you?" I asked, "Didn't work the last few times and, while you definitely know how to make me cum, I can't help but feel we're missing out on a lot of fun."
"Couldn't agree more," she said, "It's been driving me crazy, throbbing for you but not getting anywhere. It's why I've been practicing so much."
"Show me, Erin," I said.
"God, I love your voice," she murmured, "so deep and warm and firm....Sir."
Her hand sought mine for a squeeze of reassurance. I grasped her hand in mutual comfort, and as we let go our fingers trailed against each other. Our longing was right at the surface.
***
She stood up and sauntered over to the bed a few feet away, picking up the plain black cloth bag that lay on it. She reached in and pulled out a rolled towel, slowly unrolling it one section at a time as she faced away from me. Her body drew my eyes like a magnet, up and down and back again. My heart picked up the pace a bit, and I forced myself to stillness. Eventually, the towel was flat on the bed, revealing a few intimate toys. She picked one up, hot pink and compact, a vibrator attachment near the base. It looked the right size for her.
"Old Faithful," she joked over her shoulder, "Good times. But not helping me much with you." She set it back down and picked up a much more substantial, heftier dildo of transparent blue silicone. It seemed about my size or just a little smaller.
She flexibly undid her dress and let it fall to the floor, then nudged it away with her toe, gloriously naked. She may have been the shortest woman I was ever with, but she was statuesque, a perfectly portional scaling-down of an Amazonian warrior. I wished I could stop time just to look at her. I drained my drink and set the glass to one side.
"Now this big fella," she said, turning around with the dildo in her hands, "he's the one I've been practicing with for you." She swaggered back to me, stood with her legs on either side of mine.
"I know," she sighed dramatically, "I know. You said it should be bigger than you so that you'd fit better, but that just told me you don't necessarily know *everything* about a woman."
I watched as she dragged her tongue along it, swirling and sucking the tip with a loud pop. She held it against her forearm for comparison and giggled.
