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 on Part 11:
***
***Early Summer***
My phone rang, and I glanced at it and sighed.
"What?" Erin asked, pausing the DVD and getting up to stretch. I couldn't help but stare at her. She was graceful and sexy whether still or in motion, but stretching was one of my favorites, showcasing her decades of flexibility training. It didn't matter what she wore, though her clinging pants and tight, plunge-neck top certainly worked for her. She liked showing off, and more importantly knew how to do it well.
"My, uh... my last ex, Natasha," I admitted.
"She still calls you?" she snorted, "And you both still have each other's numbers? I thought you said she broke up with you?"
"She did. But we may have hooked up a few times after we broke up. Kinda pathetic on both our parts." Erin patted my leg as if to say that everyone had done something like that.
"I'm getting more popcorn. Want some?" she asked, walking away towards the kitchen. It was a stormy day, and we'd decided to watch a movie for a bit at my place before going to a museum later.
"No thanks," I replied. She came back in, munching on another handful with a large bowl in reserve, and sat down. She had stolen my sweatshirt earlier as a blanket for her lap, and now she put it on her tiny, athletic frame like an oversized poncho. The same shirt had once made an excellent fit over Natasha's mouth-watering curves, the color of the fabric offsetting her lion's mane of auburn hair.
"Not enough salt," Erin observed as she resumed the movie. We were a few more minutes into the movie before my phone rang again. I muted it. When the phone started to buzz with successive texts, I groaned in exasperation while Erin laughed and threw popcorn at me.
"She's drunk and wants you to fondle her ego," she said confidently.
"She lives in another state, just like Andrew," I reminded her, "so why would she even bother? Besides, she's more than pretty and she basically jumped ship because she wanted to see what else was 'out there.' I'm sure her 'ego' is doing fine, and frankly I don't care. No idea why she's calling me." Erin made a sour little face when I mentioned her *actual* boyfriend's name. I was probably making a similar face talking about my old girlfriend.
"Yeah, yeah. But I know a thing or two," Erin insisted, "Besides, if I were her I'd be thinking about you, too. I know exactly what she's found 'out there,' and she has definitely been kicking herself." She reached over and squeezed me through my jeans.
"Thanks, but I'm calling bullshit."
"Wanna bet, Mister Self-Esteem?" She tossed more popcorn at me and smirked when I tried and failed to catch a piece in my mouth.
"Bet what?"
"That she's lonely and missin' that dick. And I'll double down and say she's drunk, too."
"You're wrong. What's your hypothetical wager, though?"
"You win, I give you your sweatshirt back. I win, it's mine. And to make it interesting, you gotta stay on the phone until I say to hang up." My eyes narrowed indignantly.
"What do you mean 'back?' That's my favorite sweatshirt. You borrowed it ten minutes ago because you were cold."
"And you wore it around some chick you're sleeping with? Ha! Dummy. But I'm sure you'll get it back soon," she grinned, "Not like you're going to lose the bet, right? Don't worry, you'll be happy either way. I promise."
I picked up the phone and scrolled down until I got to Natasha's name. At least I'd had enough self-respect to take her off my 'favorites' list. I felt some trepidation and bitterness. I may have actually loved her for the year and a half we'd been together, and it hadn't been all that long since she'd dumped me.
Since I'm writing this from the perspective of middle age, however, I have to be honest and admit that it might equally have been a naive young man's notion of "love," with nothing but excitement and sex and ultimately shallow understanding of another person. Then again, it certainly hurt like love. And occasional thoughts of her are even now equally angry, sad, and disappointed - with myself. So maybe I really did.
Natasha, if you're out there: You had such a wonderful smile. I'm glad we found each other when we were both fairly new and needing tenderness. I'm glad we could give that to each other, and I'm sorry that it didn't work out. I certainly had some growing up to do. We both did, and we may have been too young to do it together. Perhaps you understood that fundamental shortcoming in some way, and that's why you decided it had to end. I genuinely hope you're doing well and that life has been kind to you. And I like to imagine you live somewhere with a wonderful book store you can walk to. I forgive you for the hurt you caused me, and I am sincerely sorry for any hurt that I caused you.
That said, you might want to skip this next part. Let's just say we're square for that one stunt you pulled.
As I called Natasha back, in the corner of my eye I saw Erin deliberately set the popcorn aside, wipe her hands and face, and reapply her luridly-colored lipstick. The phone rang for a few seconds before an intimately familiar voice answered.
"Luke?! Oh my God, hiiiii!" Natasha was always loud and excitable, but this was an extra level. And a bit slurred. I winced because Erin definitely heard it. She held up two fingers, then put one down: she'd been right about the drunk bit, now it was just the other part.
"Hey, 'Tasha," I said, feeling a familiar, broken clench in my stomach, "Everything okay? I saw you called a few times."
"Oh, that's sweet of you," she sighed, "Yeah, I'm alright. Sorry I'm bugging you. It's just, oh, it's a lot quieter at home than I remember. And I didn't know who else to call, since it's so late where I am. You really do have a great voice to listen to, you know. Remember all those times you read to me? I always loved that." I tried to hurry past that last part. I also tried to forget how nicely her chest would rise and fall when she sighed.
"Yeah, I do. So, you're at home? I thought you were going on that trip." I suddenly became aware of Erin smoothly leaning over to lay in my lap. She put a finger to her lips, then stealthily unbuckled my belt. My eyebrows went up as she stared me down, tongue tracing a skanky circle around her mouth.
"I am in a few weeks, but until then..." Natasha sighed again, and I heard a wine cork pop, then a long-filling glass. I was torn between frowning sadly about my relatively recent ex and grinning broadly at Erin as I helped her pull away my clothes.
"So you're just waiting around at home?"
"Yeah... helpin' out around here. Little bro is wrappin' up high school, so I'm helping him figure out college freshman stuff. I love him, but he's just so... DUMB. Not stupid, just dumb." Erin casually flicked the stolen sweatshirt sleeves up above her elbows and began to tease me with her fingers. I've never been slow to get hard, and she took a moment to admire me in both hands before expertly wriggling the tip of her tongue inside my foreskin to sweep around the head. My clavicle cracked as I flexed my shoulders back in displaced, muted rapture.
"I'm sure your folks are glad for the help," I said, trying not to sound nonchalant, "Are you doing anything fun? It's summer, after all. Are you seeing... holy *shit!*... sorry, sore muscles from w-work... Uh, seeing any friends?" Spit was flowing down me in a torrent and Erin's grip on my base was gradually tightening like a vise, yet she was being quieter than I'd thought she was capable of. She dragged her teeth along the veins that pounded like drums under my skin. She squeezed my base all the harder, one hand above the other, mouth and eyes open wide in silent delight to watch me swell even further.
"God, this *cock*!" she whispered.
"Eh... sorta," Natasha continued despondently, "And I've been trying to have, you know, some dates. But they're allllll th' same. If they're not gross, then they're kinda fun for a little bit, then... whatever. I can't really care. Only heads they've got are in their pants. And compared to you, they're, uh, 'small-minded.' In more ways than one. Even if they got somethin' to work with at either location, they don't... ugh, Luke, don't let me say it. I shouldn't. I really shouldn't." Erin stopped playing with me long enough to glance at the phone in my hand.
"Make her," she whispered at me with a sultry stare before slowly dragging her tongue up my blood-engorged shaft, all the way to the head and up and over, watching me the whole time. She paused at the top.
"They don't what, Tasha?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from getting too thick, my breathing from getting too heavy. Erin knew exactly how to get sloppy, how to lap at my balls, how to massage the base of my dick with her fingers while flicking me with her tongue. I was going almost purple. How was her grip that strong? She could barely fit her mouth over me with the squeeze-induced swelling, and she pouted about it before releasing me to let the blood flow back into my body. I had to fight not to gasp.
"Oh, Luke," I heard Natasha hiccup. I could hear the smile in her voice and couldn't help but remember how pretty her laugh was, how we'd been so damn good together, in and out of bed. Erin's vividly painted mouth slid over my still-bulging head and I felt her start to bob on me, teasingly shallow at first and then a slightly deeper on each downward slide. I closed my eyes to imagine for a moment that it was Natasha blowing me one more time. She had naturally plump, pouty lips that were amazing to watch and feel wrap around my shaft, and the way her -
Erin began to suck up and down at just the right pressure to push and pull my foreskin with each movement. Looking down, I put one hand on her curls and pressed gently, enjoying her immediate, muffled sound of surprised approval and sharp intake of breath. One of her hands wriggled down between her taut abs and low waistband, and her resulting stifled moaning onto my cock made my balls vibrate.
You know what, I thought fiercely, *fuck* Natasha.
"They don't what, 'Tasha," I repeated with false innocence, "They're not treating you badly, are they?" I thrust up slightly into Erin's mouth and savored the almost polite gagging sound, holding her for a long count and more little retches until she convulsed and tapped my leg. When she came up for air, her eyes had 'that' look to them and she taunted me with the smile of a confident prize fighter before plunging herself back down.
"No," Natasha sighed, "No, they're mostly okay, most of them... they just... they're not fun to talk to. And they don't know how to get a girl off like you do. Not just get off either, but, you know: making it fun. I liked how I laughed in bed with you whenever I wasn't just screaming. So now I'm sitting here in my stupid old room with almost nothing on and I'm really missing you in lots of places and ways and - oh, shit. Oh my God. Oh my GOD. Dammit, I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry. Fuckin'... I'm so drunk. Sorry. No no no NO!... Jesus, Natasha!"
