Erotic
2006-09-01

    Funny thing technology, it can work for you or against you. The internet for example - marvellous opportunities for communication and research, but it also enables people to trace you - some that you may quite possibly prefer couldn't! Outraged husbands you have cuckolded, ex-wives seeking all those withheld alimony payments. The group of retirees you fleeced of their life-savings with that fake investment scam.
    But then there was Amy!
    For those of you who have read my last published account "On The Banks of the Ohio" you will know who she is.
    Not twenty-four hours after that story appeared last week I received an email from Amy herself who incredibly, had read the account, and which she wrote in her email had emotionally drained her, as she re-lived in her own mind, all we shared so intimately that afternoon almost eight long years ago.
    We have neither corresponded or been in contact with one another all that time.
    Just twenty-four now herself, her communique filled in those missing years whilst mine back to her, achieved a similar purpose. She wrote of her regret that we were apparently never to see each other again and that for quite some time afterwards, she had cried herself to sleep wishing she could have spent more time with me. Fortuitous though it was that she had not fallen pregnant that day. Such an eventuality quite obviously not the ideal upshot, with two years of school yet to run.
    I confided to her that my on-going journey to Columbus and beyond that evening, was not without great sadness to myself and that had it not been for my strict work itinerary, my impulse was to go back to New Richmond and tell her that which I felt, despite the inappropriate age-difference.
   "Well I don't live all that far from there now," she emailed, "Do you still feel like coming back to tell me?"
    Having been a creature of impulse all my life, I was on the first plane out of Sydney, Tuesday morning.
    Barely four weeks since I completed the same thirteen-and-a-half hour haul out to 'Frisco en route to Denver, at least I could look forward to a different forwarding flight - to Columbus this time. I felt like a drive - which was just as well, Springfield is some ninety-five minutes due west of the city (OK, eighty minutes the way I drive) along Interstate 70.
    Picking up a Chrysler Sebring from a cute little brunette, resident at Thrifty's sales desk at Columbus International, I hit the highway, wondering what seven years or so might have done to my recalled images of young Amy. Then I glanced in the rear-vision mirror.

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   Yikes! what had those same years wreaked on my crowning glory, not to mention that unsightly roll gathering prominence around my waistline. For a moment I hoped that her looks had faded too - somewhat levelling the playing field, I rationalised.
    The Marriott Courtyard on South Fountain, sandwiched between West Main and West High Streets is a class act any way you look at it and the food they dish up in the Meta Urban bistro there is worth a stay in itself.
    Unpacking the small amount of luggage I had brought, I called Amy's cellphone, it being mid-afternoon.
   "Hello," she answered, almost shyly. The soft voice sounded exactly as I remembered it.
   "Is it too late in the day for hotcakes?" I enquired.
    I suspect she was about to say "Pardon me?" but then I heard a little gasp of surprise instead.
   "Is that you Noel?" she asked breathlessly. "Are you in Springfield already?"
   "Well either that, or you're talking to some incredibly well- programmed hologram sweetheart," I told her. "Yep just checked into the Marriott Courtyard Hotel - you know where that is?"
   "Oh yes," she answered, "Want me to come over now?"
   "Up to you," I countered. "You can just send me an email instead if you prefer. " She giggled. . .

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  the most delightful of girlish attributes.
   "I'll take my chances," she whispered.
   "Silly girl," I replied hitting "end call. " Wonderful thing international roam!
    Not forty minutes later, the lightest of knocks on my door.
   "Thank God, my hot-cakes at last. " I said, swinging wide the door to my suite.
    Takes a lot to surprise me. What stood on my thresh-hold definitely surprised me. Now she looked only nineteen. . . if that! Same hair, same face - same beautiful figure. . absolutely nothing changed. I was almost embarrassed to be there.

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   "OK Amy," I muttered "This some sort of illusion? You got George Lucas' Industrial Light and Magic working on your case? What's the story here?. . . you hardly look a day different!"
    Her blushing just made her look younger still.
   "Well, I guess you may as well come in sweetheart. " I told her, taking her arm and propelling her into my room. Catches like this you definitely don't toss back in the river.
   "Would you like a drink Amy?" I asked, glancing towards the mini-bar. "Nothing less than ten bucks a can I'd be guessing. Maybe if we both have one they'll discount the bill at check-out?"
   "Why don't we go out and have something?" she suggested, smiling prettily.
    I wasn't really listening, taking in the vision standing there. Short but ultimately tasteful little midnight-blue skirt, cream colored top with lacy edging and the same tiny gold pendant she had worn that day in New Richmond.

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Flawless little face with not a line to suggest she was now approaching her mid twenties. Her blonde shoulder-length hair was cut much the same as it had been all those years ago. Worse, my fully depraved faculties were wishing she had worn that sexy little school uniform again.

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   I thought it best not to mention this particular fact.
    Putting my arm around her waist, I found a pair of lips in close proximity to my own. Does a cat pass-up a sparrow within a paw's reach? No way - nor was I likely to allow so golden an opportunity to pass unchecked.
    She tasted even better. Slipping her arms around my neck, she returned my kiss with much the same passion I recall us mustering that day down by the Ohio river.
   "Yeah, well about that little walk," I coughed nervously. Another few moments like this and the "do not disturb" sign would have been getting a work-out!
    Again that cheekiest of smiles. I just grabbed her hand and we took off.
    Strolling northwards along Fountain Avenue we came across a hospitable little eatery called "Station 1. " Whilst not exactly a five star restaurant. . . . it is after all, eat-in or take-away, the menu was good and the décor acceptable. I had me an enormous ham and turkey club sandwich that was big enough to need scaffolding, while Amy settled for their "Philly Cheesesteak" - a tempting steak, onion, peppers and provolone creation that would satisfy anyone nudging starvation.

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   We shared a plate of french fries.
    Conversationally we touched on anything and everything from recalled moments of shared intimacy that day in New Richmond, to "Dubya's" likely short-term hold on the Presidency. I learned that Amy was basically unattached, as was I of course, and that despite the occasional boyfriend, no one had yet put down a holding deposit. Not that Amy herself had come across anyone likely to be invited to do so.
    Pigged-out and refreshed, we strolled back along Main Street looking at a few shops but ultimately conversation of a wholly different nature seemed to be indicated and thus we returned to the Courtyard.
    Seating herself demurely on the edge of the bed while I shifted a few things into the cupboard, she giggled softly.
   "This is way comfier than last time I was with you. "
    Whether by design or accident, I rather think the latter, I could hardly fail to notice suddenly that the hemline of her skirt had shifted well up her thighs and if that wasn't a glimmer of enticing light-colored material snuggling up there just beyond the periphery of my up-skirt vision, then fancy was outstripping reality.
    I sat down beside her.
    "You thinking what I'm hoping?" I asked her softly.
    "Uh huh," was all she muttered. It was all she had to.
     The thing about lacy little blouses is, they're such fun to unbutton. Most especially when beneath, one comes across the skimpiest of silky bras that the designers have so thoughtfully equipped with a front clasp. Even as Amy lay back on the coverlet, her hair splayed attractively all over the pillow, I kissed her still rather petite breasts through the almost transparent material whilst dexterously unhooking her bra cups.

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   Sliding them aside, her pretty breasts lay exposed to my vision just as they had all those years ago. I desired them equally and even as I drew down softly on her right nipple, feeling imminently, the softness swell between my lips, I could sense her body tensing momentarily - not with any trepidation I knew, but rather the knowledge of what was to come.
   "You are the most beautiful girl Amy," I whispered to her, running my hands across both breasts and teasing her nipples to the erect stage I think we both wanted to see them. She looked up me with the same vulnerable appeal that she had that day when still sixteen and I caressed her hair and kissed her gently on the lips.
    I think it was at that point it turned serious!
    She made no move to resist me as I tugged that tight little skirt higher, exposing fully now her pastel blue undies. . . which, if not a girl's most erotically charged undergarment, is the gateway to unfettered pleasured fantasy.
    Applying the gentlest of friction to the front of her panties I revelled in her escalating desire and slipping my hand beneath the waistband, located the true heat source, concealed as it was 'midst a downy softness that no man-made fibre could replicate.
    Hastily peeling her panties down I separated her labia and commenced a lateral caress of her wonderfully soft and moist inner lips. Her wide-eyed acceptance of her immediate fate fully approved and date-stamped.
   "Do I have to tell you what I felt that night Amy as I drove away from New Richmond?" I muttered softly, kissing her intermittently.
   "I had tears in my eyes all the way back to Columbus," if you really want to know. " She looked up at me, those same tears in her eyes now.
   "I want you Noel," she whispered barely audibly.

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   She needn't have!
   "Yeah? Well guess what? I ain't rushing off this time sweetheart.

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" I told her. As I spoke, I parted her legs and having already extricated what might be considered, my "tool of trade," positioned myself where I knew others must inevitably have been. . . . though none could ever claim to have been there first. It wasn't an aspect needed further contemplation I figured.
    It's kind of an old cliché to say we were then "lost in the rhythm," yet this is how it was. Not a case of two biologically driven teenagers answering the call of lust. No "obligatory" union between long marrieds that rarely gets out of first gear and definitely no fumbling amateurs hoping for the best, yet discovering the least. We made love, pure and simple and at the point she clung to me as I substantially raised her fluid level, she smiled up at me with that sexy "cat that just finished off the cream" expression that girls are so good at.
   "That was soo loving," she whispered, fully in a post orgasmic haze now. I was floating too, on an ocean of my own making. This was no more than the aperitif.

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    I think I had her naked in less than a minute and under the covers, where I joined her for early afternoon mass. Pulling her astride me, it was very much a case of "Father Forgive me for what I know I'm going to do!"
    That hot little mouth was more than willing to share its pent-up desire with my own. Kissing her with all the passion I could accrue, I had to admire her complete mastery of the occasion. Spreading her legs to the max to thus allow her access to guide me deep inside her, I was left with my own hands free with which to explore her youthful body and its many interesting crevices.
    No matter what your experience in these things, all girls are different and each one weaves an individual magic all her own. I have had the greatest fortune to have been dealt the opportunity to caress many young girls hot little bottoms, some of dubious age I will be the first to admit. Each and every one has been a treasured moment in time and Wednesday's exploratory of Amy's sexy little rear-end was definitely no exception. There is actually nothing greatly more arousing than smoothing your way over a young girl's rearward curves, even as you thrust up hard inside her. Her vulnerability at such times is extreme and its kinda fun also to wonder what her father would be thinking, if only he knew.
    With her firm breasts making the most delightful contact with my upper chest and her hair all over my face as she wriggled contentedly, I can't actually picture a more pleasant position to be in.
   "Three more thrusts should do it," I was thinking somewhat proudly. As it happened, two was all it took and even as she ground her hips against mine to better facilitate that final delivery mechanism, I pulled the hair from her eyes, so's I could watch her expression as I pumped everything I had left deep inside that most private of feminine receptacles.
   "You're trying to kill me Amy, right?" I spluttered between my on-going respiratory distress, "Death by pleasure - that's the intent here I'm guessing. "
   "Can't you keep up with a twenty-four year old?" she giggled softly.
   "Twenty-four?" I replied.

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   "I'm pretending you're almost fourteen sweetie, what's your problem!"
   "You're disgusting," she fired back, "But c'mon I want you to fuck me again. " She wriggled her hips once more, as if I even needed further encouragement.
   "Ohh, this is getting serious Amy," I muttered. "You're using the "f" word now. Have you no shame?"
   "Not with you," she giggled as I manoeueverd her on top of me, but on her back this time.
    There is no more vulnerable a position than this for a girl. Her breasts wholly at your digital mercy, her pussy too. . . especially if she opts to spread her legs to the limit of her muscular capability. If you can't get her pregnant in that pose - give it away my friend.
    From my viewpoint, pretty much going through the motions, given my fully depleted stock but Amy was far from replete.
    Rubbing and pulling her breasts like the deviate I can be, I had her whimpering and moaning with consummate ease. Though I'm not sure it wasn't my pleasured moaning I was actually hearing. No matter, finding that I was now able to ease a finger inside her as well as my seven inches of penile insert was really hot stuff.

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   Teasing her clitoral hood at the same time I was fucking her, really got the job done.
    "Don't stop, don't stop. " She cried, fully over the edge and quite past any semblance of controlled emotion. Unsure just how long I could maintain this level of aggravated sexual conduct myself, I began to kiss her neck and this, to my everlasting gratitude, brought forth the desired conclusion.
    I held her breasts tightly, even as she was transported by one tsunami of an orgasm. I felt it radiating outwards. . . I think I even contributed a last few cubic millimeters of sticky stuff myself. Can't be sure though.
    The next eight hours we simply slept together blissfully. Amy cradled in my arms with her back to me as I nuzzled her neck and shoulders. Sex is great but closeness is everything.
    As I said to her when we woke just a few hours ago.
   "Where the Hell do we go from here?"
(c) Peter_Pan 2006
The latest Harper book has now been released: "Harper Valley: A Postscript"   http://www.

 

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