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.
Note: People are complicated. Thank goodness. Whether the next installment continues from where this one leaves off or doesn't (you may have noticed I like to play with linear chronology), I'm sure we'll see more from this particular extended scene.
As always, your helpful feedback, follows, comments, favorites, and ratings are greatly appreciated. Also, I've been amazed at the positive reception and ratings for this rather long story so far! Thank you, readers!
***Mid-Summer***
Pages flipped delicately under Erin's small, dextrous hands as she turned sheet after sheet, eyes skimming quickly over words, leaping from corner to corner, mouth twitching and eyes widening now and then as her expressions changed with each paragraph and page. Here and there, she burst into laughter without noticing or breaking concentration.
Strange, I thought, getting turned on by how quickly and intently she reads.
A creaking fan droned back and forth in the corner. Hardly anyone had air conditioning, either back home or at that time in the '00s. By Mid-Summer, it was a heat wave in many respects.
She was sitting on a loveseat, head against one corner of the chair, bare legs and feet propped on the opposite arm. She had her curly blonde hair - frizzy thanks to the weather that day - held back with a pale blue handkerchief to match her short skirt. Her shirt clung sweatily to her small, pert breasts, and I could see hints of her neatly shaved self when she occasionally shifted one leg over the other. She owned fantastic underwear that normally I'd love to admire and take off with my teeth, but at that point I'd taken to giving her little assignments, little conditions, little demands each day. It excited both of us, and made the bigger demands feel more natural and less jarring or out of place. It made her want them more, and made her engine thrum with anticipation between one day and the next. That afternoon, when she had showed up at my house unannounced, I made her take her bra and panties off in the entryway and put them in my hand. If she was good, she'd get them back before going home. If not, she'd have to earn them.
She'd brought a large, black, three-ring binder with her; the kind that got used for a school project or an official report. I resolved to get her something nicer. It was full of punched paper, neatly organized (of course) by yellow divider pages with labeled tabs. At one point she paused to proudly show me the poem I'd signed, preserved in a clear plastic sheet divider. Like she was showing off a hunting trophy. Then, she stopped and went backwards through the pages, reading slower, a grin creeping across her face.
"That's the one," she said triumphantly, "Found it. I keep changing how I organize these, so it takes forever sometimes." She got up, came over to where I was leaning in the doorway watching her, and turned it around for me to see.
"Remember it?" she asked. I read the title and lifted the binder from her hands.
"I'm not sure..."
"Oh bullshit, Luke," she said, using the distraction of the binder to reach forward and grope me through my shorts, "Yeah you do."
"Okay, maybe I - Jesus!" I admitted with a sudden squawk, "Warn a guy."
"Request denied. Remember the story yet?"
"I recognize it and I know the main parts, but I forget some of the details. It's been a while since I wrote it. Woah, hey! Easy, lady. You like those, remember?"
"Love 'em, actually. Storytime!" Erin exclaimed. She steered me into the loveseat by means unbecoming of a lady before letting go of my nuts and settling herself in my lap. As we flipped through the story together, she occasionally petted me and gave petite murmurs of approval when I stroked her soft skin beneath the light clothes she wore. She ground into my lap and nipped at my ear as she felt me get hard against her.
Her various scents - lilac perfume, sun-soaked skin, the verdancy of tomato plants in her mother's garden, clean sweat, eager sex, gentle soap and moisturizer, and the lilting, unique, pheromonal melody that her body played for me from between her legs - all grabbed me by my most human instincts and made me want to do nothing but breathe her in as deeply as I could.
When I tried to do just that, her hair momentarily tangled in my new short beard, and she giggled as I tossed my head to get free. I had grown my facial hair out thanks to her request some weeks before. While she'd reassured me that my face was handsome and my occasional scruff was sexy, she was also of the opinion that I would look even better with a short, neatly trimmed beard. I was surprised when it came in as quickly and fully as it did, and it was especially strange to look in the mirror and see a bit more of my father looking back than before.
After I grew it out, Erin would stroke my face as we lay in each other's arms, laugh when it tickled her, and smile when she could smell herself on it afterwards. Pleased, she'd bought me a special oil to make it less coarse.
Across years and lovers, I've worn essentially the same beard since then. Thanks to Erin. A thing I hadn't realized until I wrote this.
"What do you think?" Erin asked when we'd finished reading the story together, "Could we do all that?"
"Some of it," I said, feeling my stomach roil nervously, "Realistically, we'll have to pick and choose. But why this one in particular? It's kind of heavy compared to the other ones, after all. Definitely a lot rougher on you. I wasn't all that sure about it when I wrote it." She set the binder aside and turned deftly around to straddle me, running her hands along my arms, shoulders, and chest.
"It grabbed me when I read it," she said, eyes flicking to mine and away again, "I want to know what it actually feels like, but only from you. I want to be able to imagine myself in it that much better. And I want *you* to think it's *me* in your stories. All of them."
"I... uh... wow," I said, forgetting what I'd planned on saying.
"Damn right," she said, leaning in to me, "And I want you to surprise me with that big, throbbing, rock-hard, swollen... nerd-ass brain of yours."
She tried not to, but once she snorted at her own joke it was all over for her. She dissolved completely into endless giggles while trying to kiss me.
"Ah yes," I sighed, rolling my eyes and fending off her advances, "Every writer's fantasy. A swollen brain."
"Sorry, sorry," she said, trying not to laugh, "Come on, I'm sorry. And I actually was serious about the stories. And this one particularly."
"Sure you were."
"Oh, don't be like that, you grump. I want us to be able to imagine each other in these stories of yours. Summer's not getting longer. Come on, you know you wanna."
"Well... okay, but like you saw, it's a bit rougher. I'm not sure how I'd feel about that, either. Like, in the real world. With you. It would definitely be an experiment for us both. Is that really okay with you?" She smoothed my hair back along my head and stroked my beard, searching my eyes.
"Luke," she said sincerely, "I can't imagine anyone else I'd trust as much to do anything even remotely like this with. To make it fun. To make it incredible. To keep me safe." I had no words for that, so I kissed her instead. Long and steadily. Then warmly. Then urgently. We fell back as best we could on the loveseat, me beneath her.
"Hey," she murmured, "Don't change the subject, Mister. So what do you say, hm? Please? It would mean a lot to me. Really..."
I felt one of her hands slide behind the waistband of my shorts as she lifted her skirt with the other. I helped and tossed my clothes away, but urged her to keep the skirt on. She leaned close and traced an artery in my neck briefly with her tongue.
"Come on, Luke," she whispered in my ear as she began to lower herself down, "I can be good, or I can be bad. Your choice. But I *know* you love both."
"Are you being good now," I asked as I began to slide past her eager, moist lips and into her purest heat, "Or are you being... fuck, Kitten.. nngh... bad?"
Exuberantly, she pushed down with a slow groan until she gave a delicate cry, then a little further. Her hips seemed made for my hands as I pulled her to me, thrust the rest of the way up to her, dragging out a high-pitched acquiescence before she began to ride me easily. What a difference a few weeks could make; from failed attempts and endearing workarounds to a glove-like fit every time. She panted hard for a few moments and reached up to roughly grope her breasts and pebble-hard nipples through her shirt before yanking it over her head and flinging it away.
"Yes," she gasped, teeth seeming sharper as she grinned around her words, "I am."
***
About a week later, I followed the printed map directions up the gravel road, trying my best to go slowly and avoid the impressive potholes and large boulders and washouts without taking too long. The spot was well outside of town and far from neighboring properties, up in the mountains, and as I came around the last bend in the road I felt my breath catch at the majesty of the view. Whoever had built the cabin at this spot certainly knew what they were doing. The old codger who rented it out in the summer off-season was way ahead of his time with personal vacation reservations, with the exceptions that you could only pay him in cash, had to call him on the phone to reserve it, and had to yell pretty damn loud.
Of course, calling it a 'cabin' was a bit of a misnomer. It was a ski chalet, and a well-appointed one at that - more slope bunny than powder dirtbag, as my friends would put it. It had a sharply pitched roof for snow, a wide deck that wrapped around most of the house, and a living room view that looked out over the dropping-away valley through gigantic windows. A hot tub on the deck completed the opulent scene. That high up, it was much cooler than in town, and sundown wasn't far off. I wished Erin could see it right then.
I parked the car in the driveway and brought the overnight bags and paper sacks of groceries out from the back seat and into the house, quickly putting away the refrigerated stuff before it could spoil and leaving the rest on the counter for later. I briefly familiarized myself with the layout (and the bathrooms). It was a fairly open floor plan that focused on the view, with lots of large, floor-to-ceiling windows that took up one entire two-story wall. No other cabins or much of anything could be seen, instead showing a long expanse of trees and rugged topography with a road far below. A small telescope on a tripod stood in one corner, as well as simple couches and the like.
I went back and opened the car's trunk, which was nearly empty except for my large duffel bag. With a deep breath to brace myself, I heaved it out and onto one shoulder before locking up and going inside. While the place had a few bedrooms that I could pick from, I opted to rest on a living room couch for the moment, setting the duffel gently down on the floor at my feet. I took in the view as my breathing settled. I was giddy and excited, but also keenly aware of a sense of responsibility. And trepidation.
I unzipped the duffel. Erin lay inside, struggling ineffectually. Handcuffs at her wrists behind her back, another pair connecting her ankles together. A handkerchief in her mouth was held in place by another strip of cloth. Sweat dripped from her contorted body. She frantically shook her head, making muffled sounds of fear around the gag, shrinking away from me. Trying to get away, or to plead.
Perfect little actress. Only her flickering smile and her flushed chest and neck gave her away. That, and the dark patch across her old running shorts, the restricted writhing of her hips, the frustration in her eyes due to her wrists held behind her back, and a few other conditions.
Pleasure over her prey-state and deep revulsion at myself for my immediate, predatory desire fought tooth and nail as I became instantly hard. I asked myself again why I was like this. Why was this part of me a braided rope of thorned and soft feelings? How could the man that got butterflies when she smiled at him a certain way be the same person that wanted to...
Focus, I reminded myself. I reached in and pulled her out by her arms, trying to seem callous while being careful.
