One of my mum's best friends when she was young was an Irish woman from Kildare. They lost touch in the early days of their respective marriages, but when I was about in my late teens they got back in contact and rekindled their friendship. That was the first time I met Mum's friend's eldest son (R), who was almost 19, for the first time. He was gorgeous: tall, slim but muscular from helping out on his parents' farm, with jet black hair and the greenest eyes I'd ever seen. We totally fell for each other and despite the fact we lived on opposite sides of the Irish Sea, we started going out together, keeping it going by phone, letter, and visits to each other's families about once a month or so.
Shortly after my 18th birthday I went to stay with R for several weeks over the summer. I'd been there less than a week when he took my virginity, and despite us both being fairly inexperienced it was wonderful. I didn't cum when he penetrated me for the first time, due to nerves and slight discomfort. He brought me off with his fingers on my clit afterwards and that was the only time ever that I didn't cum from having his cock inside me. From that moment on we were like rabbits, fucking at every opportunity, literally two or three times a day, every day. We had to be extremely careful, because he was still living in his parents' house but that just added to the thrill. We did it everywhere we could: outdoors; his sister's car; friends' houses at parties; alleyways after the cinema. He would sneak into my room when everyone else was asleep and we'd fuck for hours. Once he even took me from behind over his parents' kitchen table while the rest of the family were in the sitting room waiting for the coffee we were supposed to be making.
If we couldn't actually fuck, then I would go down on him, amateurishly at first until I got the hang of it, but always enthusiastically, or his fingers would slip between my thighs. I was in utter thrall to him and his cock, unable to say no -- not that I ever wanted to. I virtually gave up wearing knickers because there was no point, as R would have them round my ankles (or off altogether and in his pocket) the second we were alone together. I remember having to put clean ones into the laundry basket so his mum wouldn't get suspicious about my lack of underwear to be washed!
Anyway, we went out together for a couple of years, him in Ireland and me in England, meeting regularly and always indulging in mind-blowing sex, getting ever more experimental and uninhibited as we grew older and more confident. Out of bed we got on well too -- he had a wide circle of friends and I was accepted into the group, got to know his mates and their girlfriends and generally had fun. It ended when I was at university and he had started work. My course included a year in America which I was just about to start, and I didn't think it was fair on either of us to wait for me to come back. With some reluctance we agreed to call it a day. After a while I started seeing other men, and what an anti-climax (pun intended) that was! I'd naively assumed that any man would be able to satisfy me sexually the way R had, but that proved not to be the case. I didn't exactly sleep around, but I sampled enough to appreciate that the sex I'd shared with R had been something really special. It meant that I never forgot him, and indeed occasionally used memories of us fucking to bring myself off when I was either alone or finishing what my partner of the time was unable to achieve.
If we'd both been single when I returned, we might have started again, but I heard from a mutual friend that he was seeing someone so I put the idea aside. I stayed in touch with some people from the circle but my contact with R dwindled to Christmas cards, especially as I too met someone else shortly afterwards. This was the pattern for a couple of years, until everything changed a couple of years ago. R was newly-married (what a pang I had when I'd got that news!) having tied the knot a month earlier, and for the past six months or so I had been living with my boyfriend (N) who I'd been seeing for around 18 months.
Anyway, the phone rang on this particular day and I answered it. I got the shock of my life when I heard R's voice. He explained he'd got my number from my mum because he had bad news. One of his friends, K, who I knew well from the early days and whose fiancée I occasionally still got in touch with, had died after battling a serious illness. Once the sad news sank in, I knew I would want to attend K's funeral which was taking place a few days later in Kildare. I didn't expect N to come as he'd never met K, and although he sweetly offered, I declined.
I arranged to stay with R's parents for the nights before and after the service, which may sound weird but there was no animosity between us, as R and I had parted amicably and they were still friendly with my mum. R and his new wife -- who I'd never met -- lived about 20 miles away.
I have to confess that on the morning of the funeral I was battered by conflicting emotions -- grief for K, obviously, but also a mix of nervousness and exhilaration at seeing R again for the first time in several years. It sounds shallow, when the whole reason I was there was a funeral for one of our friends, but I really wanted to look good. My black suit was well-cut and showed off my figure without being tarty, my simple white blouse gave the slightest glimpse of the beginnings of cleavage without looking cheap, while my legs looked slender in near-black hold-up stockings and medium heels. I put my hair up and used only minimal make-up.
R's sister (J) gave me a lift to the church. There were already dozens of people there but as soon as I got out of the car I saw R. He was looking straight at me, presumably having recognised J's car. All the effort I'd put in on my appearance was repaid in that minute, because as I smoothed down my skirt, straightened my jacket and began to walk across the churchyard, the look on his face went beyond merely appreciative and verged on lustful. I know I didn't imagine it. My stomach swooped and I had to make a huge effort to restrain myself to a brief smile. He looked good: still trim and fit beneath his well-fitting suit, although it was a surprise to see that his black hair was prematurely greying at the temples. I hadn't expected that, but it suited him.
We didn't get the chance to speak before the funeral Mass but following the service we went on to a local hotel for the wake. After the drink had been flowing for a bit, the sadness began to give way to some happy memories and even laughter, as friendships were renewed and reminiscences shared. I was hailed by so many people I hadn't seen for years, but I was constantly on edge, wanting to speak to R but nervous about approaching him for reasons I couldn't quite define.
After a couple of hours or so, J had to leave as she had to get back to pick her son up from nursery. She offered me a lift back to her parents' house but there were still old friends I hadn't had a chance to speak to yet, so I thanked her but told her I'd get a taxi later. I'd had a few drinks although I didn't feel particularly drunk. More and more often I'd noticed R looking my way. I'd also noticed he only seemed to be on soft drinks and I guessed he must be driving.
R's sister was hardly through the door when he appeared beside my chair holding what appeared to be an orange juice for him and what turned out to be a gin and tonic for me -- my old tipple from when we dated. He sat down in the chair J had vacated and although we were part of a larger group, from then on I barely heard a word anyone else said. He complimented me on how well I looked and that he'd always liked my hair up. I know I blushed, and then was annoyed at myself for letting him see his opinion mattered in that way. At first as we talked I felt awkward and my conversation was stilted, but R seemed completely relaxed and before long we were joking and chatting like old times. He didn't say much about his wife, who hadn't accompanied him because she hadn't been able to get the time off work, but kept turning the conversation back to me. When I mentioned N he asked about him, how long I'd been with him etc and I found myself laying it on about how happy we were together, prompted I think by guilt that I'd hardly given N a thought all day, so much had R been in my head.
He bought me another drink and we talked some more. It was strange -- we weren't exactly flirting but there was a definite edge to some of our comments, as if we were both aware of how well we'd once known each other's bodies. To be honest, I was quite content -- he'd given me plenty of complimentary looks and comments, had come over to chat as soon as his sister had gone and had wanted to know about my life and my boyfriend. That was as much as I could have hoped for beforehand.
A little while later I decided it was time to leave. I was mildly tipsy and didn't want to end up stupidly drunk, especially when I was a guest at R's parents' house that night. I asked if he could recommend a taxi firm and instantly he said "I'll drop you off." My stomach flip-flopped at the thought of being alone with him in his car and I initially demurred, but I think he could tell it was only a token protest out of politeness. One way or another, I found myself following him out to his Audi. By now it was late evening, just starting to get dark. When we reached the car he opened the passenger door and held it open for me, but because of the car parked next to his it was at such an angle that I had to squeeze in with care. We were so close I could smell his aftershave and for a second I thought he was going to kiss me. I was shocked at the feeling of disappointment that he didn't as I eventually got into the seat and fastened the seatbelt.
We didn't really talk on the way to his parents. I couldn't tell if I was imagining the tension in the car or not, and I concentrated on trying not to stare at his hands on the wheel or at the muscles of his thigh moving beneath his trouser leg every time he changed gear. I was back in the past, wanting him just as much as I ever did.
We were about a mile from his parents' farm -- in fact the lights from it were just visible from the slight crest in the road -- when R suddenly slowed down, turned left into a tree-lined lane off the main road and, a few hundred yards along, pulled up in a gateway. My heart was banging in my chest now and my mouth was dry.
"What are you doing?" I whispered hoarsely. He smiled as he turned off the engine and undid his seatbelt.
"Finding out if you're wearing tights or stockings," he said calmly. My entire body was tingling, but I made a token noise of protest again.
"Sssssshhhh," R said softly, unfastening my seatbelt too and beginning to push the hem of my skirt upwards. He leant over, his face close and that same smile on his lips. "You know I'm going to fuck you, don't you?"
This time I didn't even pretend to protest. His words had set a pulse beating between my legs and my juices were flowing as if he'd turned on a tap. He knew it too, knew the effect he'd always had on me was just as powerful on this occasion. His hands were sliding up my thighs, then his fingers touched the bare skin above my stocking tops and he breathed out lightly.
"That's my girl," he said approvingly. The crotch of my white lace panties was almost transparent with wetness and he wasted no time in running his fingers over the spot, making me shiver. "Jesus, you're sopping." He pushed one finger under the elastic then changed his mind and gripped the material at both sides. "No point keeping these on any longer, is there?" he said, pulling them down. I lifted my arse off the seat to help him and he grinned again knowingly at my eager co-operation.
Seconds later my knickers were in the footwell of the car and my skirt was hitched above my waist, leaving my cunt completely on display. R touched the neatly trimmed triangle of hair covering my mound lightly, teasingly, and instinctively I spread my legs for him. He found my clit easily and flicked it with the very tip of his finger so that I whimpered and squirmed with longing. My entire body was on fire and I was desperate for him.
