The Best Medicine

If, for some reason, you feel offended by
sexual stories, then I don’t know why you have opened
this one. Maybe to be offended, so you can complain
about how awful it is that somebody writes stuff like
this. If that’s the case, my advice is to seek
professional help. You need it. The following story is
posted for the entertainment of adults.

If you are below the age of eighteen or are otherwise
forbidden to read electronic erotic fiction in your
locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers
of possible areas that some might find distasteful, but
neither the poster nor the author make any guarantee.
You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. Caveat lector; you
read at your own risk.

If you liked the story, then feel free to tell me so. If
you thought it could have been better, please let me
know as well.

I am very grateful for the proofreading done by my
friend O.

***

Colleen lived in a small house, in an older neighborhood
sandwiched between the interstate highway and the river.
The river was badly polluted, and the dam below the
paper mill sent the reek of fermentation into the air.
On hot summer nights, atmospheric inversions would hold
the stench close to the ground, and it would roll into
her bedroom windows in place of the cool clean breeze
she needed. The north wind brought the river smell, the
south wind brought traffic noise and smog from the
interstate. It was a home that invited and encouraged
escape.

She came from a long line of immigrants renowned for
escape. I don’t remember her dad. It seemed he was never
home. Her mother was an alcoholic, an angry drunk, and
beat her. There is no reasoning with a drunk. If a drunk
is having a bad day, everyone around them is going to
have a bad day. The only way to avoid the abuse was to
be somewhere else. Her bicycle became her escape.

Colleen ate for comfort, but was athletic enough to burn
off most of what she ate. She was always a little on the
chubby side, so she had nice boobs and plenty of energy.
Her best friend was anorexic or bulimic, and would
periodically pass out at school from lack of nutrition.
She was pretty depressing to be around and couldn’t keep
up on hikes or bike rides. By sophomore year, Colleen
was looking to escape with a different companion.

For a brief and shining month that spring, Colleen and I
bicycled all over and discovered a secluded spot on Fish
and Game club property at an abandoned farm east of
town. Together, we learned to kiss there. I explored the
scent of her skin and hair, the sight of her face, the
taste and texture of her lips, her tongue and mouth, and
she mine, for what seemed like an eternity.

I began to think that the universe revolved around her,
that it couldn’t possibly rain on a day that we were to
be together. My purpose in life became the exploration
of her mouth. It hadn’t yet occurred to me that she
needed me to go further.

She dumped me for another guy. She never explained why;
I guess you learn to avoid confrontations when you grow
up with an alcoholic parent. She just stopped agreeing
to do anything with me, and starting showing up with
him. He was taller than me, more publicly affectionate,
perhaps more adventurous.

It wasn’t her first escape, and it wouldn’t be her last.

The new boyfriend is gone now; dumped, as I was, for
another man. Her first two husbands are gone too,
divorced, that is.

I stayed in touch with Colleen for a long time,
eventually salvaging a long distance friendship of sorts
with her and her various boyfriends and husbands. The
second divorce was very hard on her, and in her hurt,
she reached for me. I was there for her.

She came to a few of my races that year, and cheered for
me. Long talks in the car led again to those wonderful
exploratory kisses. The kisses led her to several long
weekend trips to be together. Fourteen years after first
exploring each other we had a brief but priceless
affair.

It’s hard sometimes, when you are too close to
something, to see it clearly enough, to find and
organize the words to explain how much it means to you.
I will do my best, with a long overdue “thank you”.

***

Dearest Colleen,

It was really wonderful to have you show up to cheer for
me at that slalom race in April. The quiet talk in my
car afterward, about your separating from your husband,
and your parting kiss brought back feelings and memories
I will carry for a lifetime.

You still have that power over me.

It was that second race, really, when you left your mark
in my heart forever. I hoped that you would keep your
promise to show up, but I had already invited my long-
term girlfriend to attend. She wasn’t really looking for
a husband (been there, done that), and had given me
permission to pursue other relationships. This was
different. I had to retract my invitation, wound her,
and reject her, to be free to pursue my relationship
with you. I had to do to her, what you had done to me.
It was the deathblow to a deteriorating relationship.

I trusted you to keep your word. It wasn’t easy, after
the way you had dumped me, and every other guy you had
ever committed to.

This time, you didn’t disappoint me.

You came. You cheered. You shared my dinner and camped
with me in the back of my cold rusty Jeep, on a night
when estrogen was surely calling you to a warm cozy
nest. You made love to me, fulfilling the promise of all
those ancient kisses.

After fourteen years of wanting you, loving you was
heaven.

I remember you straddling me in the back of my Jeep,
wearing only a loose sweatshirt against the cold night
air, making love to me. Just as in the old days, the
kisses went on forever, their own reward. I explored
your mouth with my tongue, reveling in the taste, the
smell and texture of you. I found the smooth slickness
inside your soft lips; the hard sharp arches of your
teeth.

I probed the sweetness beneath your tongue, and the
rough cobblestone texture deep in the back, where the
taste of you changed in some subtle, indescribable way.
I brushed my lips across yours, side to side, eyes
closed, breathing in the imprinted scent of your mouth,
your nose, and your breath. I immersed myself in you,
letting go of every care in the world, and savoring the
essences of you that I had been denied for so long.

You drew my lips between your teeth and nibbled gently,
then my tongue. Your tongue came into my mouth and
touched and tasted every part of me you could reach. You
tasted me with patient hunger, stroking my lips and
tongue. With your knees on either side of my ribs, you
lowered yourself slowly onto my hardness and gently
rocked your hips, feeling every tiny, delicious point of
contact. I felt the Heat of you first. Then incredible
warm, slick wetness as your sex stroked the front side
of my cock, the slight scratchiness of your wet fur
adding extra stimulation to my circumcised cock-head.

We stayed that way for a long time, savoring the
alternating heat and cold as you moved. Then you reached
down between us, lifted the head of my cock to your
opening, and flowed yourself onto and around the essence
of my being. Your Heat enveloped me, and total
relaxation. You rocked your hips, stroking my corona,
the mushroom-shaped head of my cock, with the ridges
just inside your cunt. Or were you stroking yourself
with me? I was in heaven, being inside you.

You rocked…

A contraction deep within me hardened my cock,
lengthening it, the center of my perception, and sending
it reaching, ever deeper into your center. Sending me
spiraling up to dizzying heights of ecstasy.

You paused…

Slowly, I relaxed, and began to float back down to the
mere joy of being inside you.

I savored the sensations: warmth, compression, bending,
slick pulling, the ridges of your cunt dragging stronger
hints of ecstasy over my glans every time you rose.

You rocked…

You paused…

I looked up into the blue of your eyes, your rapt gaze,
and felt myself melting into some single being that was
part I and part you.

Rock…

Pause…

We made love the same way we had kissed. Slowly.
Deliberately. Savoring each smell, each contraction and
each tactile sensation.

Rock…

Pause…

Savor…

I drank in the sight of your face, your eyes and your
mouth. I reached under your sweatshirt, and found your
nipples. Slowly, lightly, I stroked them. Slowly,
deliciously, the orgasm built. With each rocking of your
hips, I could feel you brushing your cervix slowly,
gently, over the tip of my cock.

You paused, giving the muscles time to relax and the
nerves time to recover full sensation after each
exquisite movement.

Rock…

Pause…

Savor…

Your eyes were locked on mine. I squeezed your nipples
harder between each thumb and forefinger. Your eyes
closed and your head rolled back.

Rock…

Pause…

And then it was there. The orgasm snuck up on me out of
complete relaxation, of wanting nothing more than to be
there, inside you, forever. Rock. Pause. As constant as
waves breaking on a beach: surge, crash, and flow.
Surge, crash, flow. The rising tide of orgasm became
surf. I became the surf, flowing into you again, and
again, and again. Every time you moved, I became another
wave, surging into you, crashing into ecstasy, and
flowing into rapture.

***

I remember the next time, when you made the long drive
to my home, for another intimate weekend.

I remember you stretched out naked, lying next to me in
my bed. Those wonderful exploratory kisses again, that
lasted forever. And then I moved lower. I found that
special place behind your ear. I buried my nose there,
and inhaled your scent. Tested it with my tongue. Closed
my eyes and focused all of my consciousness on the smell
of the woman I loved.

My lips left a trail of moisture on your skin, from your
earlobe to your left nipple. I teased the areola with my
tongue, drawing wet strokes from the globe of your
breast to the hard, erected nipple. Your few fine hairs
tugged at the areola as I licked. I placed my mouth over
your breast, and drew it in, sucking gently, between my
teeth. Not the hard, fast, insistent suckling of an
infant, but slowly, deliberately, leaving no doubt what
I wanted.

Still sucking, I gently closed my teeth onto your skin,
and sucked harder as I drew away, felt the texture
change from skin, to areola, to nipple, and coaxed tiny
droplets of your musky essence into my mouth. You
moaned, and arched your back with the pleasure. I
couldn’t exactly taste your musk on my tongue, but the
next time I exhaled through my nose, you were there, way
back inside my head. Every breath was filled with you.
My cock jumped and throbbed, but I was not done savoring
you with my other senses.

I continued lower, and stopped briefly at your belly
button. Clean.

I skipped your center, fighting my attraction to the
scent of your arousal, and resumed my explorations on
the soft skin behind your left knee. Teasing you, more
than anything. I followed that tendon from your knee, up
the muscle, with my lips and teeth, making little nips
along the way. Just before your mound I explored the
tendon again, the beginnings of your soft fur, and the
little hollow between your thigh and your labia. I
marveled at your skin, so smooth and pale and perfect.

The flower of your sex had blossomed, petals opened, and
a pearly drop of your nectar had grown in your center,
inviting me in. I dropped to the other knee, and nipped
and kissed my way back to your sex. I paused over you,
breathing in your scent, and gently lowered my tongue
into your folds, coating my tongue with your slick
nectar. Feeling the engorged vee of your inner lips,
guiding me to the pearl of your ecstasy. Drawing the
thickness of your nectar into my throat.

I lost myself in you, exploring between your inner and
outer labia for that musky essence, driving my tongue
deep into your opening for that salty, heavy metallic
taste, then stroking you from anus to clitoris, over and
over until the whole front wall of your cunt began to
tremble against my tongue. I took your clitoris between
my lips, rested the rough surface of my tongue against
the very tip, and sucked, gently. I slowed my pace.

The tiniest lick.

I could feel you twitch.

I paused, and waited for it to pass.

Felt you relax.

I sucked again, harder, drawing you deeper.

Lick. Twitch…

Pause…

Suck…

Lick. Twitch…

Pause…

Eventually I brought you over the edge, with the top of
my tongue, my whole universe, resting directly on your
clitoris.

Watching your breasts rise and fall,

Hearing you breathe and moan,

Tasting you,

Breathing you,

Immersed in you,

Feeling you contracting in orgasm; again, and again, and
again.

You.

You are the most beautiful thing I have ever
experienced.

Thank you for sharing yourself with me.

Your gift to me is so rare that most will never
experience it: an intimacy requiring that sexual fit be
perfect, that love and trust, skill and lust occur
together, and that all be off the scale. You brought me
to a state that is nearly impossible to find again, even
having been there; yet there it was, the very first time
that you made love to me.

Thank you.

***

Shortly after this second interlude, I received the most
beautifully written anonymous thank-you note. The author
rhetorically asked how I knew just the right medicine,
just the right dose, to aid her healing. The answer
should be obvious from what I’ve written: I loved her
with every fiber of my being.

I couldn’t tell her that, though, because she also
thanked me for not pursuing her, not trying to capture
her or hold her too closely. It was a good-bye, of
sorts. Another escape.

Colleen began dating someone closer to her home. We
still met privately for a while, talking and sometimes
kissing. Our meetings became less frequent as her new
relationship matured. Eventually they married. Several
ex-girlfriends and an ex-fianc� later; so did I. It took
a long time to find another woman who could measure up
to the standard Colleen had set.

At this writing, another fourteen years have passed. I
wrote this story to preserve and share a precious
memory, so that the memory, at least, may endure. The
farm, the Fish and Game club, and The Aeromotor windmill
are all gone. Even the hillside is gone now, swallowed
in the expansion of a highway interchange. Colleen’s
third marriage has proven to be solid and enduring. She
must have learned something, or perhaps she really did
get just the right medicine: the best medicine.