Dear Memory

Dear Memory,

Why should I arrange to meet you? You are a distant, shameful figure from my past, my reckless youth. Why should I agree to meet with you? Deceive my husband, my family? My marriage may not be a hotbed of passion, but by our culture’s standards, he has been a good husband. I am a respectable married woman. And yet... thinking of you awakens that wicked, wilful girl of my youth and that wild and passionate summer of love. There was pleasure in my wickedness, a passion that my life has lacked ever since you first tempted me from the path of innocence and purity. Attending that party was a treat from grateful parents. My mock exam results had been good, and the summer holidays involved many relaxing of strict rules, and the freedom to mix with girls, western girls of my own age. I had pleaded to be allowed to attend Carol Waterman’s party. The assurance of her parent’s oversight had let them give me the freedom to remain until midnight. That night I met you… something that my life had not prepared me for. Attentive, witty and with a sharp intelligence that allowed me to open my inner self to you, in a way that I have never found since. You had that funny, lopsided smile, which wormed its way into my heart.

I trusted you. I think with was the respect that you paid me, no pushing, no cajoling. I knew that there were at least two other girls at that party who seemed annoyed that you appeared to prefer my company. You talked of things that made my blood heat, my head spin. Was the fruit punch spiked? I knew about sex, the theory, and read romantic fiction that would have horrified my mother. I was curious, I was nervous of you… and it was a wonderful feeling. Adrenalin is a potent drug. You kissed me, open mouthed and with a passion that had my heart beating wildly in my heaving chest. I turned you on, and was delighted and amazed at the power I discovered I possessed… You touched me, caressing the swell of my breasts and I murmured a ‘no’. And you stopped. You apologised and you made me feel very safe, very much in control. I took your hand, your tanned masculine hand and placed it over my breast. That first kiss, first touch ignited fires that I never knew lay dormant within me. I knew how terrible, in the eyes of my family, my actions were… and enjoyed each and every second of my tiny rebellion. If it hadn’t been to terrible, so intoxicating, it may not have gone any further.

We ended up out on the veranda, the security light leaving a corner of deep shadow. I wore a long skirt, as fitting for a modest Indian girl, but it also possessed a thigh high side slit. You hand found it unerringly, and I stood shivering with your warm, firm had roaming over my bare skin. You advanced, and paused, advanced a little more, as if waiting on my reaction. We both knew were you were going… and like you, I had no idea if you would reach your goal. The first brush of you knuckles against the front of my panties had me swooning in your arms. My knees threatened to give way. You remained considerate, when you could easily have forged ahead taking full advantage of my overwhelmed senses. Instead, you maintained the gentle contact and asked if I was ok. My response, if memory serves, was ‘that I had never known that I could feel so good’. You quickly proved how much better it was possible to feel.

Your stroking finger soon had my honey flowing freely, the material of my knickers seemed to magnify the sensations, as you smoothed it into the groove of my sex. Then you blew what remained of my resolve, a finger slipping past the edge of my gusset, and into the hot, sticky depths of my vagina. The sensations were so intense - I stopped you then, not because I disliked what you were doing, but more from fright at my own reaction. I was sure I was going to collapse, my legs no longer able to support me, a scream in my throat choked back with difficulty. You held me tightly, letting me recover my composure. So began my summer of love.

You fingered me again that night, in the half hour before my parents were due to pick me up. We walked down the drive to the gate, hand in hand, like lovers in one of my forbidden books. You stood behind me, arms around my waste, nuzzling the nape of my neck, nibbling at my ears. To my shame... to my pride, I took your hand and pressed it between my thighs. I wanted more of what you had given me my first taste of. You needed no second invitation, your hand quickly sliding down the waistband of my skirt, and down the front of my pants. You held my sex, my pubic mound in the palm of your hand with a delicately and reverence that I found overwhelming. I closed my eyes and lay back against the support of your body and let it happen, your free hand caressing my breast, the fingers of the other… parting the lips of my pussy, rubbing knowingly at the swollen nub of my clitoris, curling to probe the sticky opening beneath. I stood it for as long as I could, before the sensations threatened to overwhelm me again. Each time your fingers penetrated me, my buttocks pressed backwards against you... and the hardness in your groin. Your manhood, your penis. I savoured the words, to my shame. Erect, hard - in preparation to do what your fingers were doing to me. Frightening. Wicked. Exiting. That knowledge turned my knees to jelly.

At the approach of headlights you stepped off the drive and into the bushes. My parents found me standing demure and alone, not even the taint of alcohol on me.

I talked my parents in letting me start going to the boat club, it was the daily social centre, around the swimming pool. Carol Waterman was my key, and her parents would pick me up and bring me home. It became an everyday occurrence, to sunbathe and swim the day away. I loved you in your swimming trunks, broad shouldered, tanned and we flirted all that first day in the water. I wanted to kiss you... have you kiss me. Any lingering embarrassment from the previous night was dispelled by your obvious delight in me. I hungered for the bikini swimsuits the western girls sported, and hated the one-piece black Speedo my parents insisted on. I loved you lack of concern, and the sincerity when you told me that you where with me, and not them. I almost thought that the day was would pass uneventfully, and then you asked me if I wanted to explore. I almost wet myself there and then in my eagerness.

Behind the changing block was an enclosed leafy glade, well screened from all eyes. You kissed me, and with not a drop of fruit punch in sight. I loved your strong arms around me, your lips on mine. In a fit of bravery, and blunt honesty, I confess that I had “diddled” myself to sleep last night... several times. You held me tightly, our bodies pressed together, your arousal pressed hard against my stomach. Remembering the pleasure you had given my last night, I turned around inside the circle of your arms, and press my bottom against you, placing your hand once more between my thighs. The material was stretchable enough to allow you to slide your hand inside the high cut leg and once again I quivered on your fingertips. You pressed the boundaries further this time, working my breast free from their confinement. My nipples had never been so hard, or so sensitive. In the warm afternoon sunshine, yards from a crowd, I was having my bare breast fondled while your fingers worked their magic with my pussy. It was so bad…. It was so wonderful. I groped behind my body, and fumbled at your trunks. I wasn’t thinking, I was reacting to my body’s demands. I had a stab of fear, of nervous anticipation, as I found the drawstring of your trunks. Your penis, your cock. A hard warm bar of flesh. Despite the pleasurable distraction of your fingers, the urge to take full advantage of my compulsion made me turn towards you, and examine my catch. I was focused on you, tugging you free from the swimming trunks. This was no curly little tail that the only images I seen depicted.. this was a throbbing bar of veined manhood, blood warm and alive in my hand. I was mesmerised, ignoring your frozen immobility, and knelt unconsciously to take in the details. The pale, blue veined column rising from the dark bush of reddish brown pubic hair, the dark plum like head, the glans. I was fascinated by the loose movement of the outer skin. It was not until some days later, when you explained about foreskins, that I would know that I held a circumcised model. Call me biased, but I have always had a preference for them.

I never told you then, but when I leaned closer, eye to eye so to speak, my open mouth was nothing more than slack jawed awe. When you leaned forward and pressed the blunt head of your cock to my lips, it certainly surprised me. But with an instinct that I did not know I possessed, I knew what you wanted… and swayed forward to accept you. Your cock filled my mouth, my lips stretched wide to accept its girth. I dimly heard your groan and could feel the trembling in your body. I had never suspected that such a sexual act existed... none of my romantic reading had covered this kind of detail. I felt cheated! I did little, I heard you wince and felt your body flinch when my teeth snagged the flared base of your glans, and struggled to keep my lips shielding you. I snuffled through my nose, and vainly tried to swallow the saliva the slightly salty taste of you generated. You slid back and forth - restrained, shallow thrusts – once moving my hand to a firmer grip around the flared base of your shaft, so that I was masterbating, wanking you in time with your fast, short thrusting.

You fucked my willing mouth in a steadily increasing tempo, and just as I became aware of more aromatic salty tang, you pulled wetly back, leaving me gasping like a landed fish. I could feel the shudder in your body, felt the jerk and pulse in your shaft and saw the little eye flare as the first jet of semen spat out of you, hitting my chin and cheek, before you crouched and pulled me close. I rose to meet you, and your slippery, spurting cock was pressed to my breasts, and I felt the subsequent lesser spurts against my throat and between my breasts. As your tremors subsided, and your climax passed, I found myself wanting to cry. Cry? In joy, in awe… in burst of passion, or the power of love? Let us settle for an excess of emotion.

Then, as considerate as ever, you knelt and kissed me, my slimy breast pressed to your broad chest. You fingered me some more, this time down the inside the low cut back of my swimsuit, down between the cheeks of my bottom and in from behind. I would come to know love that rear entry method in the days to come.

My diary records that as the first of twenty-three blowjobs I gave you that summer. I held you to me the second time, and swallowed your cum. I drank your seed eighteen times, the remaining times I held your jerking cock between my breasts drinking you through my skin. Young girls and the diaries.

I sucked your cock in your bedroom, in my parent’s bathroom, in the bushes at the boat club and in our respective garden. I drank you cum in the darkened back row of the cinema, and once on the back seat of a taxi. I even risked death by drowning to take you in my mouth underwater in the swimming pool one memorable afternoon. I became rather good at sucking cock, blowjobs, giving head. I struggled to perfect my technique and leaned to breath with a mouthful of cock, and even practiced the skill of deep-throating you. I came to love the taste of you, and even today, I expect to taste the tang of swimming pool chlorine..

The pleasure giving was not one sided. Another party, and we quickly sneaked off into the garden and found a secluded spot amongst some guava trees. The grass was rough and scratchy, and the fear of insects made me unwilling to lie down. I knelt on your jacket and with now practised hand unzipped and unbelted his jeans, pulling them and your underpants down to your knees. You were a little reluctant to be so exposed, but I could not get enough of your cock. Your testicals, your balls fascinated me anew... and I loved to hold your firm muscular behind tight against me when you came in my mouth. I was getting good at sucking cock, and was able to press you right to the back of my throat without gagging, for a short period at least. I learned to lick the underside of your cock, making you writhe and moan in pleasure. And I had learned to make you cum, my masturbating your shaft and bobbing mouth in an irresistible combination – half a dozen strokes in the right combination and you filled my mouth with semen. As always, you knelt and kissed my open mouth, and I never knew until I had experience more of life how distasteful most men found kissing a mouth so recently ejaculated into. This night you bade me stand, and once I did you skinned my damp knickers down to my ankles, and a little uncertainly I stepped out of them. Then you shoved your face into my lap and licked my pouting slit. Oh god. You drove me wild, with tongue and fingers and hot panting breath. I locked my fingers in your fashionably long hair and ground myself against your face, your nose, your mouth. You sucked my clit, and tongued my vagina in a veritable waterfall of honey. I came, noisy, grunting like an animal, struggling not to collapse in a quivering loose-legged heap. You ate me until I begged you to stop, tugging at your hair. You could have fucked me then… I almost begged you to. I was fully aware, in spite of my recent blowjob, that you cock was hard... and only inches from my pussy... my cunt. Along with other parts of my anatomy, you certainly expanded my vocabulary. A dirty word, unloved by women around the world... but descriptive, earthy and crude. I was a dirty, wicked girl, with hot wet cunt, that wanted to be stuffed full of cock. This time your kiss was full of the flavour of me. The tangy, musky flavour of my flowing honey, and it mixed nicely with the lingering flavour of you semen. A portent of things to come.

I spent the next two days wrestling with my conscience. Everything up until know could be dismissed as minor, not true, but it could come under the heading of messing around or heavy petting. What I now desired, craved, was beyond those bounds by a long, long way. Shame, dishonour... my parent’s reaction could not be imagined, so terrible would be the wrath that would descend upon me. Which only made my desire worse… I wanted to kick over the traces, my wild streak had been given a freedom I had never dreamed existed. I was a wicked, wanton whore and I revelled in my secret life. I knew that what we were doing could come to a dramatic, painful conclusion at any moment. Our time together, our summer of love was finite. And I knew that you had to be my first.

The next night my parents planned an evening out, I let you know that we would be free until at least ten that night. You were outside my door at eight.

I said nothing to you about my decision. But you knew I think. You said nothing as I led you by the hand into my bedroom. I felt strangely shy as you looked around my girly room and the lacy décor. I had stripped the bed down to a single sheet, and your eyes widened with understanding, confirmation? I undressed you... stilling your attempts to aid me. Then you stood naked before me, your cock a ridged vertical bar of male arousal. I told you to stand immobile as I slipped my blouse off, removed my bra and then suddenly rather self consciously, my knickers. A dramatic pause and I let my skirt fall around my ankles. I remember how wide your eyes were, soaking up my totally naked body for the first time. You lay on the bed, as I requested, before I knelt between you thighs. I gave you a long, slow drawn out blowjob. Every time you moved to participate, I hushed you. ‘Later’. Your hardness throbbed and jerked, filled me, and I swallowed, savouring every drop. Rather reluctantly, I let you slide free of my mouth. The moment had moved a stage closer. I smiled up at your flushed features, and whispered, ‘Your turn’.

On my back, my thighs unceremoniously spread wide, knees raised in the classic, eternal position for the receiving of cock, for the first time ever. I had never been so exposed, so vulnerable in my life. And I trusted you… as few have been trusted since. I knew, deep inside myself, that you found me desirable, your transparent fascination with my body, my cunt, warmed my heart and soul. You licked my slit, with you magical tongue, parting the swollen labial lips with your fingers. You licked and probed every fold and crevice, from my throbbing clit to my honey filled vaginal opening. My hips bucked up and I came explosively, a few moments later I grunted and moaned in the throes of another. It was becoming unbearable - I tugged hard at your hair, and made you yelp, pulling you up. You rose to your knees, panting, eyes glazed. Your hard, still wet, manhood bobbed in front of you sweaty body. I was tempted to say ‘Make love to me’… but I was feeling wicked and dirty, the words came out as ‘Fuck me. Fill me. Make me cum’.

Thank you for your hesitation, you enquiring look of ‘Are you sure?’. Oh Dear Memory, I have rarely been more sure of anything in my life - and mouthed a silent plea of ‘Yes’. One swift motion and the blunt wedge of your cock was pressing against my honey dripping opening. One long, firm push and I was full to the brim with throbbing manhood. No pain, none of the discomfort I had feared. Instead there was fulfilment, intense satisfaction and a warmth deep inside me that I have never experienced since…

I writhed under you, enjoying the sweaty weight of your body, your hardness soaking in my hot clinging depths You lay, trembling slightly, the slow steady throb of your cock, as you kissed my face, my mouth, my aching breasts. We lay for several lifetimes, and you seemed to be savouring the sensation as much as I. Drawing out that special moment, that first ever, full length penetration of my womanhood. If for nothing else, I owe you that memory, that special, once in a lifetime moment. I could feel every twitch and pulse of you, the mouth of my cunt so highly sensitive that I could detect the minuet motions caused by our respective breathing.

Then you fucked my brains out. Starting slowly, easing the hard length of throbbing cock back and forth in my over lubricated cunt, my knees spreading ever wider to allow you fill me deeper, harder. Speeding up slowly, the strange sensation I suddenly realised was your testicals, your balls swinging against the swollen, sensitive bud of my anus. Your hands, sliding under my buttocks, lifting me, moist fingertips at my anus. Many of your early exploratory fingering of my body led to that forbidden place. My initial shock and distaste had been gradually replaced with a kind of anticipation. You had gotten me used to the occasional fingertip, and we had talked about anal sex. Although I could never, relaxed with you as I was, have voiced the thought – the seed of curiosity had been well and truly planted.

You fucked me. Your cock slamming into me, ever harder, ever faster, My mind, like my cunt, expanding and I wrapped my legs around your bucking waist, heels hammering on your pumping, muscular buttocks. Until my cunt, my virgin cunt, exploded in an intense, body jerking, mind blowing orgasm as intense as any I have ever experienced. I heard your groan, felt you shake and jerk in my arms, and your cock, your beautiful hard thrusting cock, was jerked cruelly out of my liquid clasp, a hot slippery pole sliding up the groove of my totally fucked cunt, and you spat your seed into my flattened, soaking pubic bush and up over my belly. I struggled under your weight, desperate to free myself, until you rolled off me, onto your back. I forced my aching, tingling body to rise and kneel over you, taking your sexily soiled hard on into my mouth. I licked and sucked you clean of semen and pussy juices, revelling in that unique blend of flavours… You took my virginity, offered freely and I committed a heinous act of pure debauchery in the eyes of my family… and it remains to this day, the most wonderful thing I have ever done.