Sometimes when I am sitting at home, or in a hotel room, the light slants across the bed in a certain way, and you are there so strongly I can hear your voice and smell the silver of your mouth, always accompanied by a wisp of grass in the background. My heart leaps, and I look for you, but even with your presence so strong, I cannot see you. There is anxiety in my soul as I remember that perfect day with you, when the light slanted just so.
Of course you weren’t supposed to be there. Of course I didn’t know you would be. But somehow you knew that you should be there, and that nobody else was home. It was late spring; school was still in session, but it was warm. My window was open, and the breeze blew in the smell of the lawn as I lay reading on my bed. I heard the door open and thought little of it. A brother coming home, most likely. You came quietly up the stairs and looked in my door, but I didn’t see you until you walked all the way in and rested your hand on my butt, fingers down in a soft caress. I pretended to continue reading, and your fingers delved deeper, feeling my pussy through my shorts.
I knew how wrong it was, but I continued reading and let you continue feeling. A finger delved deeper, finding its way around the leg of my shorts and to the thin fabric of my panties, reaching forward until it found the sweet spot that made me put down my book. You closed the door, turned me over, and kissed me. I didn’t know what to do with your tongue in my mouth, but it didn’t seem to matter. It never seemed to matter. Your hand reached under my shirt and encountered my bra. “What’s this?” you asked, “are you really grown up enough for this?”
My cheeks were hot with embarrassment as I nodded my head. You laughed and undid the hooks, pulled off my shirt, and my bra, just to stare at my newly sensitive nipples that looked like gumdrops on my chest. It seemed like forever that you just looked, but then you bent down and gently kissed each one, making me squirm with the exquisite sensitivity. Your hands stroked the sides of my breasts and kept going down my waist, to rest for a moment on my butt before you pulled off my shorts and stared again. “You really are grown up now, aren’t you?” I was pleased with your gaze and your words. Nobody else treated me like a grown up at all.
You bent down and kissed my pussy lips, letting your tongue slide out to touch me, then traced up my body and back to my mouth. Your hands reached between my legs, searching to open me. My nipples rubbed against your t-shirt, making me yearn for more. Every touch was gentle, soft, but insistent.
When your finger reached inside me, I suddenly remembered Saint Maria Goretti and spoke up. “No, you need to stop.” You looked at me with pain, but you stopped what you were doing and helped me get dressed. “Someday” was all that you said.