DEAR MEMORY

Part II

Dear Memory,

What have you done to me! I knew, I knew with every logical bone in my body that meeting you again would be a mistake… how trite that sounds. A mistake. My life, my world, threatens to crash down upon my head and that little word, mistake, does not do the situation justice. My husband is convinced that I have been whoring myself, and has voiced his suspicions to his family, who have passed it all to mine. I don't know where to turn, how to fight this. I can't fight it because it's true. I have whored myself… with you… and the problem really is that I want to do it again, and again. My husband knows… not what, not who, but has a good idea about the when. Rani's alibi has held firm, despite the pressure from the family. But she knows what I did that night… I had to tell her, she is my alibi, but her knowing only makes it more likely that the truth will come out. The worst thing is, that I fear, despite all this hell, that my night of madness may have worth it. Oh God, I don't know who, or what I am any more.

Thank you for the compliments… but I know that I am not the wild young thing you fucked senseless all those years ago. Age, marriage and the responsibilities of respectability have taken their toll. Yes, I have kept my figure, and my breasts and ass are firm - but the wrinkles are there… not, dear Memory, that it seemed to lessen your ardour in the slightest.

I got there early, too early, and my nervousness led to at least one drink to many. Dutch courage? But when you strode across that crowded bar, straight towards me, my middle-aged nervousness dropped away, like a heavy coat removed for the heat of summer. And heat there certainly was... in my heart, and between my thighs. The next person sit in my seat would have found a damp patch. God, listen to me - all this is your fault! Despite the years, you didn't seem to have changed. A little hint of grey at the temples, a little heavier… but I would have known you instantly. Seeing you in a suit and tie was more of a surprise - I almost expected you in the jeans, t-shirt and flip flops of my memory.

I don't think I said more than a dozen words to you. I could only look at you, the face of my dear memories, overlaid on your new features, older, wiser features. You must have thought me rude, distant... but if you could have read my mind… I was thinking about your dick. I was remembering kneeling before you in the African sun with my mouth full of you. I was fighting the desire to kneel in that crowded bar and unzip your trousers. Me! A respectable, middle-aged Indian wife! Pure, spine tingling, madness. You chatted so easily, your smiles awakening dormant memories. It was akin to time travel - as if the years, the life I had lead, was a distant dream. That trust I had felt in you is still there. You talked, making up for both of us, telling me how pleased your were to have found me after all these years. I nodded and smiled in the right places, or more or less, and wondered when you would fuck me. You told me about your life, the good bits, the funny bits, some sad bits. I must have seemed disinterested - I can only say 'sorry, my thoughts were elsewhere'. You glossed over your love affairs - the one bit that caught my attention. Who were they? Did you fuck them like you fucked me? Do they have their own memories of you that they ruthlessly suppress, allowing them to continue their mundane lives? I could take no more, and swallowed the last of my drink in one long gulp. The glass rattled noisily as my shaking hand returned it to the tabletop. "Enough… lets get out of here." You took it well, and ignored my abruptness, and rising, followed me through the crush to the door.

The cold air was like a slap in the face, sobering, frightening. My will wavered and I thought of fleeing. Then your arm slipped casually around my waist and you were guiding me down the street. The cold night air was suddenly an invigorating contrast to the heat within me... the desire within me. You told me that you had booked a hotel room, a short walk you said, ten minuets. God! How could I not wait ten tiny minuets to feel your cock? How could such wanton insanity overcome my years of respectability? That ally way beckoned and I cast my dignity into the gutter to pull you into its dark, concealing depths. You offered no resistance, and followed me willingly. I pulled on your arm until the shadows gave me the grubby illusion of privacy. You returned my hungry, desperate kisses, without any hint of reluctance or disapproval. I tasted the brandy on your tongue as I grappled at your waist, tugging at your belt and zipper. I cursed in frustration at my clumsiness - undoing men's trousers was not a skill an Indian matron practised, and would have shocked my husband. He came naked to our martial bed, and disliked my touching him at all - until he was ready to use my body. Now that same body hungered for your cock, deep in my cunt, my ass.. but quickest and easiest to perform in a filthy ally way… my mouth.

You laughed, that funny little noise you made all those years ago - that spoke of your delight and amusement, but shared, not at my expense. I made a little girl noise of my own, a growl of frustration, and you brushed my hands aside, quickly undoing your belt and opening your flies. You were hard, and my first feeling was one of relief... I made you hard. Fishing your erection out of your underwear was another exercise in patience, but I eventually held you in a firm grip. You nuzzled my ear and whispered that you had a hotel room a few minuets away.

"I can't wait that long." was my wanton response, and then I squatted in that filthy ally way and pressed my lips to the circumcised helmet that was an old friend, absent for all too long. No playful licks or kissing, my hunger was too fierce, too urgent. I filled my mouth and throat with your throbbing thickness until I gagged and spluttered. I milked the base of your shaft urgently, spluttering and snorting through my nose, sucking on your maleness. You were bigger than my memory of you. Bigger than my husband. I felt your finger brush the hair away from my face, and knew that you were looking down at me, mouth stretched to accommodate your cock, and felt such a flush of pleasure... I almost came there and then. For all my desire I felt clumsy, awkward. I wanted to taste your cum, I wanted to drink your essence, and I lacked any type of technique... the expertise that I had learned in that summer of love had long since atrophied, I was used to being fucked in the mouth, not using my mouth as a means of forcing a climax. To my dismay and frustration I was forced to draw back, as I almost choked myself. I looked up at your comforting features and moaned in my frustration. And you understood. Didn't you? You knew what I wanted and gently took control. Your hands held my head in a gentle, firm grip, and you began to slide you cock back and forth in my open mouth. This I understood, keeping my lips firmly pressed to your shaft as you fucked my open mouth, firm, but restrained. I could feel the tension build in you, the tremor in your hips and the firmer grip of your steadying hands. I knew the moment of your crisis, the throb in your shaft, the suddenly stillness of your thrusting hips, and the tremble in your hands. I could feel that first spurt of your semen travel down your cock. Then it was jetting against the roof of my mouth. I didn't swallow immediately…. I wanted my mouth filled with your seed. I wanted savour the taste of you. The scent of semen filled my nasal passages, and I fought not to sneeze. You filled me to overflowing, a dribble down my chin, until reluctantly, I let your aromatic seed, slide down my throat. I sucked at your undiminished manhood, seeking every drop of your cum, before letting you slide free of my mouth.

You had to help me rise, as the awkward squatting had caused my abused knees to seize up. I wiped my chin on my jacket sleeve, but was pleased at your immediate insistence on kissing me, your tongue down my throat, your hands on my ass. My husband rarely kissed me after sex, and never if he had recently cum in my mouth. Your attitude to me, your delight in me, and the respect you paid me was as powerful and as meaningful as that special youth of my memory. I knew there and then that I was doing something that would shake the very foundations of my world. For all its terrors, I also knew that given the opportunity, I would not be changing a thing. You zipped your pants up and once more we passed for something that could be mistaken as respectable, and you lead me the rest of the way to the hotel.

Do you remember the look that man at the desk gave us? A few hours earlier I would have curled up in abject shame.. but I was no longer that person. I actually blew him a mocking kiss! You were funny, apologising for the ordinariness of the room. Did you think I expected the honeymoon suite? I had just sucked your cock and drank you cum in a grubby ally! Rest assured, my dream, it was a fine room for what we had in mind. And I knew exactly what I needed first. I heard you say something about having a shower, but I was in no mood to delay what my body craved. I walked over to the bed, unhooked my long skirt and dropped it in a heap around my ankles. I bent forward at the waist, hands on the bed, and offered you my rear end. No words were required and you wisely kept your mouth shut, as once more you read my mind and my desires. I shivered when you roughly skinned my soaking knickers down, whimpered when your strong hands spread my bottom, thumbs reaching down to split my honeyed peach. You knew what I wanted... no words, no caress, just the long hard intrusion of your cock, hilt deep into my aching cunt. I rocked forward as you slammed into me, hard, fast, just as my body craved. My lowered knickers and entangling skirt made it awkward for me to spread my legs wider but it mattered little. The feel of your hardness, thrusting into my body was a time warp back to my reckless youth. I was sixteen again, crouched behind the changing rooms, cunt exploding with sensations, knees trembling, biting my lip to still my cries… some things had changed, and I must have horrified you, crying out, saying those words... fuck me, fill my cunt, fuck me harder, more, more, more… I don't think you came, holding my sweaty hips, your hardness driving into me, again and again like some untiring automaton. It was a wonderful fuck.. no finesse, no playing. Just hard and deep and endless… all I know is that I was lost in one unending, gut wrenching, body jerking release of pent up lusts and frustration - and honestly, I don't really know if was an orgasm or not. The sensations built and built, no peak, just going on and on. It all became too much, and I finally pulled free of you hands, collapsing face down on the bed, body jerking and twitching, ass jiggling in the air. I must have looked a sight.. mind you, when I finally rolled over and looked through my tears at you.. standing with your trousers round your knees, wet cock bobbing in the air… sorry I started laughing.

You finally gathered me up, walked me into the shower and then stripped me naked, just like you did in my bedroom all those years ago. I felt as if I had drunk too much. Light headed, dizzy. We showered, and the water brought me back to reality. Showering with you, our naked, soapy bodies sliding against each other... it was as good as the sex. I sucked you some more... you nearly broke your neck trying to get your tongue into my crack.

We eventually ended up on the bed. It was wonderful... to lie and enjoy each other's company, gentle now, the wild lusts and urges satiated. You made the same old joke, about wishing you had my tan. I loved your paleness against my darker tones… a pleasing contrast. I took a long time playing with your cock, reacquainting myself with an old, dear friend. You are bigger than I remember, more gnarled, more veined, an older, wiser, lived in cock. I idly wondered, dear cock, where you had been, what you had seen. How many pussies had opened for you? How many mouths and asshole's? You have a tummy that my memory is sure was not there before… but then so have I. But for all the superficial changes it was as if the last twenty years had never been. You are the same person who consumed my heart and soul under an African sun.. I was almost sure that a clock was ticking somewhere, and my parents due home any minuet.

The night passed in a pleasant blur of companionable silence, deep conversations and glorious, guilt free, pleasurable sex. I sucked on your cock and you ate my pussy. You lay on me as I wrapped my legs around your waist, your hardness driving me crazy as you fucked me slowly, withdrawing almost entirely from my honeyed hole, then that gut churning slide back into me, until you pressed my cervix with your thick blunt tip… again and again and again.

I rode you like a cowgirl in a cheap western. Working my pussy up and down the impaling thickness until I thought my head would explode with an overload of pleasure. You rolled me over and fucked me face down on the bed. Thrusting into my upraised ass, grunting in my ear. You fucked my breasts, sliding in the lubrication of spit and pussy juice as I held my tits together to form a channel, licking and sucking your glans each time you came into reach. You had only cum that once, in the ally, and I was starting to worry. "I want you to cum.. inside me." You smiled your lopsided smile and I knew what you were going to say even before I heard the words,

"You, we, can't take that risk." You paused in true dramatic style, "There is an other way... that would be safe." I could not help myself and played along. "I don't know… wouldn't that hurt?"

"Not if you relax.. got any Vaseline?" you grinned.

That stumped me, and I didn't know what to say. Then your grin became wider, and you fished in the pile of your clothes by the bed. "I think some KY would do the trick." And you held up the tube.

Bastard.

It didn't hurt this time.. I was more than ready and probably as relaxed as I have ever been in my life - take a note - three hours of serious fucking can do that to you. The difference this time was that I insisted on being propped up on elbows and pillows and by straining my neck, I watched you force your pale, greased thickness into the small, dark knot of my anus. Oh god! There really are no words to describe the sensation, the passage of a throbbing cock past the tight, sensitive sphincter, filling me… I jammed my fingers deep into my vagina to feel you once again. For only the second time in my life, I felt that indescribable sensation of anal excitement.. and urged you on with loud, dirty, filthy words "Fuck my asshole. - Fill my ass - Cum in me. - Shove your white cock up my brown ass. - Fuck me. - Bugger my hole!". I yelled words at you I am ashamed to admit knowing… and had that incredible anal induced orgasm once again. You came this time. I thrilled as your face contorted, lost its composure… you groaned like your life was ending and I could feel the semen pass down your thrusting cock to fill my ass. It was a magical as my memories recalled.

We showered again, and you seemed to take special delight in cleansing my abused little opening... not that I was complaining. Clean and dry we crawled once more into the bed and cuddled, petted and eventually fell asleep in each other's arms. I woke early, still inside your protective embrace… and studied your sleeping face. I cried. I cried for the life that had never been... the life that could never be... I cried because I had never felt so good, and for the fact that I feared I would never feel so good again. I cried because I was lost. I cried because I had never been so happy. I cried for what I had found, and at the same time, for what I had lost. Who ever said we were simple?

I had dried my eyes and composed myself before waking you in a way that I had often imagined, but never attempted. I uncovered your sleeping body and gazed down the your semi-hard cock and its nest of curly hair. I slithered down and took you into my mouth once more and sucked back to full erection. You awoke during the process and began to stroke my hair. Then you rolled me onto my back and spread my willing thighs. You lay on me, slipped into me, and at last... I held you tightly in my arms and thighs as you filled my pussy with your cum. There were tears in my eyes again, but I do not think you noticed. And I would have denied it if you had. We lay together for another hour or so, before using the shower again. It was more subdued this time, the hour of parting weighing down our spirits once again. You started to ask me to stay with you, run away… but I could not listen to that. I hushed you, firmly… and I am sorry for the pain on your face. I was, still am, touched by your desires… and your reluctance to comply with my wishes. Your walked me to the station and I can still see your face as the train pulled away. We should have been in a black and white movie - the kind with a sad ending.

And now. Now I have a husband who thinks I am a whore. A family in turmoil due to his loudly voiced suspicions, pressurising my closest friend to betray my confidences. Why does he suspect me? He suspects me because I could not fit back into the role of a compliant wife... to be used when he desired something to fuck. I made the mistake of trying to express my own burning needs, fires of lust stoked by you. I wanted him to eat me, fuck my ass… He knows… he just can't prove anything. Rani is my alibi, I spent the evening at her house, and he cannot prove otherwise. But he knows that she is covering up for me… it seems only a matter of time. Dear memory, what have you done to me? What do I do now? What have I done?