Thanks again to my patient editor, Kenji Sato.
As pleasant as winter can be... the winter I spent at Gail's was glorious. Gail and I slipped into a pleasant companionable routine. She expected absolutely NOTHING of me and, for my part, I helped out in little ways as best I could.
We rearranged furniture; the large bed we moved from 'Kurt's room' to mine, I never understood why I couldn't just switch rooms. But, 'Erica's room' DID have the morning light; and as the winter progressed, I often also had 'Erica'. I still had not come to grips with what this 'young Erica' was.
Not a ghost, as Erica is very much alive in Leominster; but thirty-eight years old, not twenty.
Not a dream; to me, she was very much flesh and blood. I was wrong about the 'young Erica' being finished with me; this one time lesbian affair; of simply punching a ticket on life experiences. I saw and loved Erica with some regularity, not quite every week, but more than once a month. Whatever freedom she needed in her married life, her life as a mother in Leominster; whenever she could 'get away.'
Not that Erica hated that life. Her husband was loving, attentive, and supporting; her daughter was in school, the first grade, I think--and if not a genius, a very well adjusted, happy and intelligent child--at least to hear her mother's side of it.
Oh and as a bonus to me, and certainly to her; she no longer came as a young girl with the memories of an older woman; but, fully as a 38-year-old mother and wife. Ah that body! No longer a wisp of a girl--but a WOMAN; strong and strong willed, knowing what she wanted, what she needed. She was actually slightly taller; had she grown a bit after twenty? or was it the confident manner in which she carried herself that created the illusion of greater height? I never measured...
She still appeared nude. And, of course, after the heat had been turned down, we needed to be under the covers; but that first time, the first time she appeared in her true form, I insisted that I inspect her as she had scrutinized me when she saw me naked.
To her, I was still the 'greyhound'; lean and fit, built for speed, and physically tough.
To me, she was a mother; only twelve years older than myself, but motherly in form. She was strong from work; and kept herself fit with yoga, pilates, or some such; but, her breasts were those of one who had suckled young. They were still firm though large; her hips had widened; and her ass was soft, but not jiggly. I guess she thought it fashionable, or her husband liked it bald--she never said--as her sex was shaved very close. Erica had but a hint of tummy--this, she worked hardest, to keep small.
Her appetite for me was huge. The nights she spent with me--I blush to say this--were almost too much. We got no sleep, as I was her confessor, her confidant; we would cuddle for hours, and I would be the listener. She unburdened her life--well, unburdened is, perhaps, too strong--there was little that was painful in her life; it was just very busy, I was... recreation, a respite from responsibility. I never asked how she managed these 'getaway' nights; it was all too weird, anyway...
The talking--or, in my case, listening--eventually gave way to quiet. In the quiet, we drew closer; as we drew closer... we touched more. It, almost, always began shyly, as though it was the first time with another woman for... both of us. We discovered each other's bodies. All soft touches at first, always first. The lightest of touches to the hands; to the forearms; to the face, the cheek; a stroking of the hair... Silent gazing into the other's eyes; then, and only then... the lightest, the almost chaste kiss. Then, the pulling away; our eyes downcast. It was, as if, in that pulling away, we both, simultaneously, remember our erotic pasts--all of it--with all our lovers.
Our passion is suddenly stoked to furnace levels. We pull at each other, violently pulling the other's head in; so we can devour her mouth, to taste her, swallow her spit, probe her ear with tongue and finger. She would rub against me, as she did that first night, like a demented tigress. Her first orgasm was nearly always thus; frenzied, explosive, lightning fast, and...searing.
I guided her hand to my sex; instructed her on how I deserved to be touched. I wanted to savor it--I made her take her time. Still, she was very enthusiastic, making me climax sooner than I wanted. I punished her by making her eat my cunt. She was never very good at that; but, it was just as well, as it lasted... much longer. I instructed her, step by step, on how I wanted her to suck my clit, to lick me, to tongue my holes...
All the while, she would play with herself in her usual manner, bringing herself wave after wave of splendid, but not massive, orgasms. After a series of climaxes she would be quiet; that was my time to suckle her motherly tits. This was the peak of my experience with her.
I revisited the wonderful erotic bliss of suckling a mature woman. Her breasts were not like Meg's; they were firmer and not as pendulous, her nipples not so grand. They did not compare with Lucinda; though, I had never actually suckled Lucinda, except in fantasy or dream.
Sometime before daybreak, she was gone. It was all part of the mystery... there, and then, NOT there.
I had not seen Erica in almost two weeks. In some ways I was glad, as I was getting a full night's sleep. She generally--there was no USUAL with Erica's appearances, arrivals, or whatever they were--showed by midnight. So, one night at 1:00am, I pretty much had given up on her... when the door opened, and someone entered. Well that was new, she never used the door; and Gail never left her room after her shower, except for occasional calls of nature.
"Fiona?"
