I always looked forward to the taste of her. Or maybe, tastes. All women have something unforgettable about them. Sometimes, it’s a delicious laugh that brightens even the darkest day. Other times an impish streak that makes you always feel like you’re on a roller coaster. With Rose, it was her flavours. That intoxicating vanilla of her lipstick, the delicious salty bite of her skin, and, of course, always, the fruity tang of her sex. She was the juiciest woman I’d ever been with. Not just in that lewd sense, though yes, that too. She was like a peach. Ripe, tender, gushing. Her mouth so wet and inviting. Her tongue playful, flicking, coiling. I loved to suck on her lips, the way it elicited soft moans from her. Standing between her spread legs, we renewed our connection that way we always did, kissing, quick butterfly kisses quickly transitioning into deeper, wetter, soul kisses. Looking into each other’s eyes, the recognition of each other’s longing, passion, dormant for months at a time, then always reawakened when we were together. I could kiss her for hours. I had. Many times. Especially when we were young and that was all we did. I thought all women would be like her, so juicy and tasty, and was disappointed to find they weren’t, though as I say, every woman has something. Still, as much as I enjoy the physical differences, I’ll always have an unshakable attachment for Rose. She was my first. I, hers. Sneaking away from the parents’ boring chatter we’d explore the lakeshore, the woods, and, over time each other. And so it still was. The annual gathering marking the start of summer. Several extended families gathering. Sundresses, mint juleps, croquet on the lawn. Rose and I always finding time to escape. It was harder now. We couldn’t just disappear for hours on end. She was with Chris. Though as long as he didn’t put a ring on her finger, I didn’t feel too guilty. I’m not really sure I’d feel guilty even then. She’d been mine before she was his, and anyway, I’m not sure I could resist tasting her lips, feeling her full breasts, her puffy, sensitive nipples, gazing longingly at her strawberry and cream complexion, feasting at her pink, swollen pussy.

She handled me like no other woman. Or maybe she’d trained me to associate the firm grip of her soft hand with the proper way for a woman to work a cock. Firm strokes of my shaft, her palms curling over the head of my cock, her tongue licking my lips at the same time in a not-so-subtle hint of things to come. By now the sensation evoked a torrent of memories. Behind the old barn. Caught in a terrible downpour, huddled under a massive oak. Hidden in the attic. So many times, she worked me like that, her hands on me, our lips locked. Realizing I was close, I pulled away. Time to devour her. I slipped off her panties, both of us smiling at the other. My eyes involuntarily were drawn down to her glistening slit. Involuntarily at first, but then with purpose and conviction. Giddy at the sight her of her carefully trimmed, strawberry blond muff. Dropping to my knees. Flicking out my tongue, I planned to tease her, feeling her hands on the back of my head urging me on. I was never able to properly play that game, my own appetites always got in the way, my desire to eat her whole, to feel her shudder, her juices coating my face, my beard.

She’d been self-conscious at first. Not understanding my enthusiasm. Unlike many men, it isn’t, for me, a way station on the road to something else. Especially with Rose, it was something I loved to do for my own pleasure. Like I say, the same sensation as biting into a ripe peach. Juicy, sweet and tangy all at once. Even more, I loved her reaction. Do women have any idea how that affects us? How thrilling is every sigh and moan? How we relish every motion. A thigh tensing. Excited squirming. Fingers clenching around shock of hair. It couldn’t be choreographed to be sexier, more enticing. I licked her slick folds. Took her clit into my mouth, feeling it swell and harden between my lips, her arousal obvious in the way her entire body responded. Nipples stiff. Lips pursed. Toes curling. It felt so natural to be between her legs like that, where I truly belonged.

So why wasn’t I always? So many reasons. Dressed up in my best shirt, my collar was still blue, whereas she working on yet another advanced degree. Even shined, my boots didn’t turn into wingtips. I was a country mouse, she city. Politics. How could she really be excited about Jeb? But we could have overcome all of that… if we’d wanted to. But, we didn’t. It would have been too expected. Too precious. Our families were already intertwined. They’d been planning the Danny and Rose wedding for decades, since before we could talk. We knew, both of us, that we could never be just us, that we’d always be just a symbol of them. Too much pressure, too little freedom and privacy. So instead, we just had this. This annual reminder of our bonds, refreshing of the glorious memories we shared. I felt her clawing at me, pulling me back to my feet. Lost in thought I missed her climax, although, in fairness, even her buildup was so sexy, so replete with soft groans and rolling hips that it wasn’t always easy to tell when she actually reached her peak. We kissed again. Rose sucking on my lips, tasting herself on me. Enjoying the ripe peach even as I did. She stroked me again, but I was already hard, eager. I stepped forward and she guided me to her sex. And then with practised ease, I sank into her. It made me gasp. Always. The heat of her. The wetness. The way her pussy seemed to clench and grab at my prick. She breathed hotly into my mouth. I pulled back. I wanted to watch her beautiful face twist in passion as I began thrusting inside her. Her mouth alternated between pursed rounded lips that accompanied her moans and her broad, happy grin as she regarded my face. Her eyes, bright, wide, open, then squinting in excitement, rolling back as I went in deeper. No talk. No need for it. We communicated with our eyes, our hands, our bodies. And anyway, what was there to say? She slid back onto the counter and I bent over her, our bodies drawing close. Her nipples brushed against my chest. I kissed the creamy skin of her cheek, her neck. I was tempted by one dark moment to leave a mark. Her pale skin was so vulnerable to hickies, as we’d learned by the unfortunate, though in retrospect amusing, experience. But just for a second, I wanted to send a message to Chris that though he might have Rose, she’d still always be mine. But, of course, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t ever do that to her. Or to him. I looked into her eyes clouded with passion. I wondered what she was thinking. But I knew. The same as me. Longing and loss. Passion and mourning for what could never be. I felt her shudder. Her pussy clenching me rhythmically. Another orgasm, a small one, but delicious. She pushed me away. She needed a break. And I couldn’t suppress a smile. I knew what would come next.

She turned me so that my butt was pressed against the counter. And then she dropped down before me. She took me into her mouth. I shivered in delight, smiling down at her, as she made love to my glistening shaft. Her lips curved around my manhood, her tongue, playfully licking me up and down, swirling around the head of my cock. I knew she could taste me, my exciting leaking, and herself. Did she love the taste of me as much as I loved the flavour of her? She seemed to. Her enthusiasm was palpable. Or maybe she just loved what it did to me. She took my prick in long, slow swallows. Her eyes on mine, looking up at me. Not in submission, but recognizing our emotional connection. A connection real despite the fact that it is impossible not to be in love with a woman performing oral on you. At least at that moment, it short-circuits the brain.

Still, I knew this was just a paused. That we’d end as we’d learned to always end. Together. I lifted her to her feet and turned her around. This was another thing we’d learned over time. How long had it taken me to feel comfortable enough to ask for it, to enter her from behind? I thought she’d be offended. She wasn’t. And she found she enjoyed it as much as I did. Standing, with her legs together, it made me feel like a stud. She was so tight that way. But even more, I loved the way it gave me access to her body. I could fondle her gorgeous, hanging breasts, feeling her hard nipples brushing against my fingertips. I could encircle her hips with my hands, delight in the sight of her beautiful, round ass quivering with the strength of my thrusts. I even loved seeing her cute, pink rosebud winking at me as I entered her. Not that we’d ever played there… though I wondered, always wondered, if she was as curious about that as I was.

I thrust into her, harder, harder. Her gasps, her moans, inflaming me, urging me on. We spun. I bent her over her counter. How long had we been at it? Long, too long. We always lost a sense of time. I smiled, remembering the transparent excuses we’d come up with. We got lost. We fell asleep. We found a litter of kittens. None of those would hold up this time. Not that they ever did. The excuses just fed the fantasy of the dream wedding that, little did they know, would never happen. I felt her seize, a gush of wetness, a bite into the peach. I followed. Unable to resist, not wanting to anyway. We writhed together, hard, then slower. She stood, my rapidly shrinking cock still inside her. She turned her head and we kissed. Awkwardly, over the shoulder. Then, as I fell out, we kissed again, deeper, wetter, less in passion now than in farewell. I knew she’d leave me now and go back to her real life. To Chris. Her studies. Chicago. And I would as well. To my workshop. My dogs. And those long walks in the country, where no matter who I was with, my thoughts always drifted back to Rose. I held her in my arms. Just one more moment. One last moment. And then, goodbye… at least, until next year.