Validaytion

VALiDAYtion By Earl of Norfolk The back roads were ablaze with brown-eyed yellow daisies, and I was ablaze too. As the miles slipped by, my memory rolled around and around the forty years that had passed us by and brought us to our mid-fifties. The ten years since I had last seen her were not kind to the body - less hair, a few more pounds and stronger reading glasses, but I was reduced to simply wondering if her eyes still held that twinkle that had so captured me at age fifteen. It was a first love for both of us. The kind that roots itself deep and spreads through your body over the years, maturing into a perfect memory never to be purged. There had been nothing physical - not even a deep kiss. Yet over many walks home from school, with books carried, hands held, hormones heightening, we had bonded in that most fortunate of states called "first love". It was not to be. Her parents had separated us, frightened by the obvious glassy look in those usually bright eyes. A transfer to a different high school and finally a move to another city left us apart and heartbroken. We moved through passionless marriages, budding careers and growing kids until a chance call to my office during a visit to the big city led us to a hotel room. Even twenty years had not dulled the bond, but it was tempered now by the reality of spouses and babies. It was the first time I had truly felt lust. When I peeled the panties over her hips to reveal the blond pussy, I almost fainted, but it didn't stop the amateurish groping, the fumbling passion, or my cock driven dog-style up her grinding pussy. She was not on the pill, but I told her I wanted to finish deep and she whispered her acceptance. It was the first time I heard her squealing orgasm, - a little sound, almost distressing, until I realized that she was simply straining to maximize the intensity of the moment as her finger also took her over the top. In the next decade, we met a half dozen times in clandestine sexual couplings, returning each time to the dullness of our marriages and the duty of children. I thought back to the end of my first marriage almost a decade ago - why had I not contacted her? Was it an attempt to preserve the perfect memory? Was it for fear of losing it? The thought weighed heavily on my heart. Now, a family tragedy brought another call, a business trip and my long drive to her cottage. I had remarried, finding passion and commitment in the new relationship, but also discovering trouble with fundamentals and communication at the seven-year mark. She had not found a soul mate after working through a lengthy divorce. What led me here? I know I felt pounded at home, at work and at play. I was tormented. She was distraught with her son's clash with the law. Was this visit to be simply a downer for us both? The yellow and brown forest of daisy faces snapped me back to the moment, and a quick stop yielded a bouquet for my lady. And then I was there, as if no time had passed between us. A hug, a kiss on the cheek, and the flash of the eyes. It was soothing to know that the twinkle remained. We talked in the sunlight of a hot July day, rambling around our troubles as comfortably as a dog checks out his domain. We were both older, hurt by life's ebbs and flows, but we shared our thoughts as smoothly as any old married couple. She was being hard on herself without reason, filled with shame about her son. I was tormented by work problems, family issues and marriage misunderstandings that never seemed to get resolved. Supper and a fire brought us closer, yet each of us knew and respected the limit I carried as a married man. She told me how rejected she had felt knowing that I had not pursued her after my divorce. It was a knife to my heart. My actions had violated the memory. If I were to stay the night, then separate bedrooms were in order, on different floors. I had promised my body to another. She was too hurt to think of forgiveness. Dessert never got touched. A hug, then a touch, rekindled 40-year-old feelings of tenderness. Absence fueled our bodies. The kisses were deep this time. She was a good kisser. Her huge breasts felt soft in my hands and the stiffening nipples tried to poke through the bra and T-shirt before she lifted each over her head with a moan. We groped under shorts, resisting the nakedness that would breach the limitation silently set by us both. My finger found her pussy dry, but a rub across her clit brought a wetted hole and a moan. We could not pursue it, but the deep hugs and quiet stroking were profoundly comforting. We parted to our rooms on different floors and fell asleep more confused than ever. I could not tell you the time of my toilet stop, but I can tell you that a full moon just as bright and as golden as the yellow daisies conspired to stop me in my tracks and draw me to the window outside her bedroom door. She came to see it at my urging. I held her and we stared at the lunar light. We shivered watching it from the porch. It is said that the moon does crazy things to animals. I followed her into her room. We could cuddle, but nothing more. We could not touch. We could definitely not touch naked skin. We could kiss. We could kiss some more. We could touch outside clothing now. We could touch breasts. And nipples that hardened. And feel hormones that flowed. And hands that went everywhere, trailing fire in their path, touching bare thighs, and buttocks, and pussy hair, and cock and balls and finally a wet clit. It was understood that my cock would not penetrate her body. The squeals started, then the panting, the moaning, the thighs spread open, the nightgown stripped off, and the pajamas thrown across the room. The squeals again. God, how our bodies fit together. More squeals brought on by my masturbating fingers. I needed to go off too. She lay on her belly, hips lifted and cunt and ass open to view from the bright moonlight. Did she want it in the ass? She moaned and told me how a lover had taught her to take it deep in her dark hole. How she had learned to like the discomfort. How she had then learned to love the ass pounding. How she had gone off with cock buried deep in her butt. My mind reeled with the words. She had known years ago that I had wanted her there. I had missed taking her real virginity. Now I learned that the virginity in her ass was not mine either. My body had been given to a new wife - her ass given to a former lover. There was more. When she was very hot, she loved it up the ass, but I was not to violate my promise and was not to feel the hotness and tightness of her butt hole. Her rejection answered mine. I found myself whacking off between her thighs, staring at her slit and the pulsing ass hole, dying to penetrate, but knowing I would not let myself do so. Nor would she. "I'm going to come on your ass", I told her. And a breath later, my sperm shot down the shaft and spattered on to her genitals. Gobs of my load hit her ass and oozed down to her pussy crack. I spread it around both holes with my finger as she moaned beneath my touch. Rolled over, my fingers flew over her sperm laden crotch and brought her to another steaming orgasm. She had never felt a hot load blown on her ass. She and I melted together and drifted off to sleep coiled in a mass. Was the mutual hurt forgiven? Sometime later, her kiss woke me and sprung an instant hard on. I had thought we were done, but the surprise kiss fueled us to renewed groping. We talked. She liked her nipples pulled and yanked. Sometimes she liked them sucked hard. She fed me her tits as I lay on my back. "Suck mine", I pleaded. She was rough at first, duplicating her nipple needs, but I needed tender licking to bring on the feminine orgasmic rolls that most men never achieve. Now I was the one moaning, seeing her kneel over me with those huge breasts hanging down and her belly puffed by gravity. I rubbed it, imagining I had impregnated her and she was five months pregnant with our baby. Her tit licking continued, taking me through spasm after spasm. I fingered her clit, drowned in the closeness that multiple orgasms bring. We were harmony now, without thought of penetration. My stroking brought my cock to the exploding point, and a fast scramble put the load of sperm on her face. I spread her new face cream with gentle hands, savouring the smoothness. Now my fingers on her clit brought new moans. Thighs flew apart. I tortured her nipples, twisted them, sucked them hard and slipped my finger into her wet hole, around and around the opening, teasing her, and finally driving in and rubbing on her G-spot. The little rough area puffed up, engorged with blood and primed for lust. Back and forth my fingers moved, drawing moans. Back and forth, the moans grew in intensity, and the hips lifted, seeking more and more pressure. Finger. G-spot. Finger. G-spot. Squealing. Body writhing in orgasm. I shuddered as more aftershocks rolled through my body in sympathetic harmony with hers. She remembered the large dildo I had once greased and rammed up her cunt. I regretted not having one now to stretch out her moans, but we calmed down, exhausted, and fell into that savoury sleep only lovers can know. My mind was vaguely aware of her snakelike movements, bodies wound around each other, hands aimlessly sliding over skin in a reassuring gesture of closeness. Skin has a memory too. The morning was bright. My body slow. The shower took the cobwebs out of my head. Or had it been something else? I felt rejuvenated deep inside. Validated as a man. She had given that to me out of love. Had I given it back? Validating her as a woman? Her face looked brighter. Her eyes twinkled more than before. Breakfast and coffee brought on talk. "First lovers", she said, "have a certain kind of ownership in each other." Yes, it was true - permission to love another must be granted. I felt the hurt when I told her that I had to try to make my marriage work. She knew it before it was said. She would not respect me if I didn't try, and I would not respect myself. She knew she had helped in that realization. I was released to try to love again. I no longer felt pounded, or in turmoil. We parted quickly with a light, secretive kiss and a hug after a neighbour dropped by for a chat. Nothing profound could be said in any event, for our bodies had spoken the last word under a full moon hanging low in the eerie pre- dawn light. I flew past the yellow daisies, over the gravel road to the highway where the turbo on the big V-8 thundered into action and pounded the tachometer to the red line. The shift to overdrive brought a rush of quiet. I rushed in overdrive now too. Rejuvenated. Validated. At peace with our memory. And already wondering about our next reunion. 3577 1.20/512345