She stood in front of me, hitching up her flowered skirt. A pair of lavender panties slid to the floor and she stepped out of them. Her dark eyes challenged me.
"You are trying to trade those for something again."
"Maybe, but mostly I want you."
"I heard you found a new guy. Someone who didn't give you such a hard time."
"I did, but he was a dud. I'm back."
I gestured to my lap and she obediently lay down. One of my demands when we were going together was that she return to the running form she had in college. She called me an overbearing ass, but did get out on the trail. Took ten pounds off her butt and thighs. I massaged them as I thought about what to do.
"Go ahead. Beat me. I know you are angry."
She was only half right. I was madder at myself than I was at her. When I was hung over, which I wasn't today, I liked to blame the Irish. All of my drunken Irish DNA. The genes that made me drink, that drove me to towering rages and depressed misery, that lost me jobs and girlfriends. A truly heartrending story, if only it were true.
She had new muscles in her ass, and flexed them. Kathleen knew me better than I knew myself. We had grown up together in the same Boston Irish neighborhood. Blocks filled with children of cops. Orphans and widows of cops. Bound by clan and the discrimination of WASP Boston. At least, what was left of it.
"Stop thinking and get on with it."
I licked her tough rump, and took a mouthful, letting my teeth sink in, but not making marks. She had felt me there many times, and wiggled. My hand slid between her legs and she tried to close them. It was a game we played, going back to when we weren't legal. Her mom promised to put her in a convent if she didn't stay pure until she was eighteen, so we teased each other.
"You don't have to torture. I did come here willingly."
I ran my hand under her shirt and unclipped her bra as I turned the tight body over in my arms. My lips found hers and our tongues fought.
"You really are a good for nothing bastard. I don't know why I am here."
She was naked now, my fingers attacking here and there, her perfect flesh twitching, along with her crotch.
"I suppose you are going to get me all hot and throw me out."
The walk to my bed was short. It was only a one bedroom shack in the woods on the north side of 128.
I dropped her on the messily made bed. Her wide brown eyes looked up at me, wondering what devious idea was in my head. She'd gotten a scholarship to Radcliffe, just after it has been absorbed by Harvard. She was smart, got good grades and saw through my schemes.
"Do you want a beer?"
"Bad for my weight. I'll share."
The beer could wait. I was trying not to smile as my clothes came off. The second she saw my hard cock, I was done for. She would know she had me.
"You look good. Are we going for a run? There is a trail here and the mosquitos are mostly gone."
Her smile dissolved into a laugh. "You look good too, Sean." Her reaching hand was pulling me down by my male trophy. That's what she called it, saying any woman who had been screwed by Sean was a trophy. I was an English major in school and couldn't figure out the grammar of that, but didn't care, since I was sinking between her muscled thighs and finding our connection.
The moment my cock entered, it was pleasure and madness all over again. A witch's brew of lust. She groaned, a long drawn out "Yesss."
She liked to talk during sex. Called me names, promised to never do it again, said her tramp days were over. And lost herself in a towering orgasm that shook from top to bottom and left her gasping.
Today was just low animal noises. Small answers to my thrusts. It had been almost a year since we'd seen each other last. My nerve endings were blasting as never before. Absence certainly did make sex better.
We were going to climax soon. Too soon. I slowed down but she said, "No, finish me."
She didn't scream, but the body spoke for her, shaking wildly and tossing me to the side.
I returned with a beer and sat on the edge of the bed. She lay fully relaxed, eyes slitted, chest still pushing rosy tits skyward. I said, "Don't worry about the bed," knowing it was my mess dripping out of her.
She took a long gulp from the bottle and stared at me silently. Communication was occurring. I took her hand and worked on the fingers.
"Kathleen, I'm glad you found me. We have been stupid."
"Yes, both of us."
"Me, most of all, for leaving the way I did..."
"That was truly nasty. My mom was so upset, she didn't show me your note for two weeks."
"I'm sorry. I was in a drunken funk when I wrote it. The Precinct Captain showed me the Commissioner's reprimand letter and I knew it was the end."
"They were wrong, you could have fought back."
"Once you have one of those in your file, it's all over. Doesn't matter what is in it. They may let you do your time, but everyone knows why you are never on the promotion list."
"What did you do? I would have gone with you."
"Cashed my pension check, bought a motorcycle, and left as soon as I sobered up. I was too proud to come see you face to face."
"My mother said, 'Damn Irish,' and told me to get over you."
"I'm glad you didn't take the advice. How did you find me?"
She pulled me over on her chest and twirled her fingers in my hair. "You talk too much when you are drinking. Byron told me."
