I Remember You (An Erotic Romance) - Isis Cole (2 page)

  Married twice.  Divorced twice.  In rehab.  Out of rehab.  A five-year period of astonishing productivity and success, and then a complete disappearance from the music industry.     
 

  The waiter came, asking about drinks. 
 

  “Wine?” Michael said. 
 

  “Should you?” Rachel said. 
 

  He shrugged.  “A glass of wine with lunch or dinner… yeah, it’s not a problem.”
 

  The wine came.  They ordered.  A long time later, the food came. 
 

  They talked about this or that.  Rachel told him about her life in Wilmington, North Carolina as a college professor, and about her beautiful daughters.  Trisha was the soccer star, about to enter junior high school, and Linda was the artist and writer, wowing her teachers in the fourth grade.  Rachel was almost bursting with pride when she talked about the girls.  She could feel it in her chest.  She didn’t talk about the divorce.  It was water under the bridge, and she might as well keep this lunch date positive.
 

  “I’d like you to meet my girls one day,” she said.
 

  He nodded.  “That’ll be nice.  I can be Uncle Mike.”    
 

  Michael talked about his career, the years he spent as the songwriting partner of Billy Ray Deuce, the parade of top ten hits they had.  He described a party on the roof of a hotel in Manhattan, thrown by the record label, a celebration that cost half a million dollars.  He talked about eating lunch with Billy Ray at an outdoor restaurant in Los Angeles, random people walking up and snapping close-up photos of the pop singer with their telephones.
 

  “They don’t even ask,” Michael said.  “They just walk right up, one after the other after the other, click, click, I own you now.  I got your picture.  Billy Ray’s just sitting there sipping cappuccino the whole time like nothing is happening.”
 

  Rachel watched him.  Older now, still so very handsome.  She thought of how when they were in school, he was a scholarship kid, how he worked all the time just to stay afloat.  He worked in the university cafeteria mostly, but also in the snack bar at the campus center.  And he bused tables at swanky events held at the business school.  He even convinced her to work with him one night. 
 

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said. 
 

  “It’s easy.  I’ll show you everything.”
 

  “Michael…”
 

  “Come on,” he said.  “It’ll be fun.”
 

  Was it fun?  It was a new experience. 
 

  She wore a black mini-skirt with sheer stockings underneath.  All the rich old men, the business titans, hit on her.  One man did more than just hit on her.
 

  She stood at a table of ten people, taking orders.  It was a fast-paced job, and it was hard to keep everything straight.  She tried to concentrate on the orders.  There were only three choices.  Chicken.  Salmon.  Steak.
 

  Suddenly, she felt a hand on the back of her leg.  Slowly, it ran up her leg, up
under her skirt, and rested on her butt.  She looked down and to her right.  The man smiled up at her.  He had a crew cut and an elegant pinstriped suit on.  It was funny now to think that he was probably forty years old.  He seemed fit, and strong, and very, very old. 
 

  “That’s a nice girl,” he said.  “Take your time.  We’re patient people.”
 

  She felt a hot blush rise to her face.     
 

  He was feeling her up, right there at a table full of people.  He did it casually, like he owned her.  She glanced around the table to see if anyone noticed.  No one did.  The man slid his hand between her legs.  For some reason, she didn’t pull away.  She was too embarrassed.  She didn’t know what to do.  Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.  Soon, she became hot where his hand touched, and wet.      
 

  She spread her legs just slightly.  The firm hand cupped her there.  She pressed against it.  It was a confusing, but delicious feeling.  A finger expertly found her clitoris through her stockings and began to massage it. 
 

  In a moment, she left with the orders, but when she returned to the table, she went right back to the same spot.  The man’s hand quickly returned to its place.  His fingers resumed their exploration.  He rubbed her clit, rubbed it and rubbed it.  She stood there like an idiot, speechless.  She had already given the people their plates of food.  She had other tables to cover.  There was no apparent reason why she was still there.  Except she wanted this man’s hand between her legs.  She wanted him to put his fingers inside her.  She wanted him to bend her over the table and take her in front of this crowd of people.  She was so hot, and a stranger was nearly bringing her to orgasm right there in the crowded catering hall. 
 

  At the end of the night, the man gave her a fifty dollar tip and his business card.  She glanced at the card.  He was CEO of something or other.  Captain of a fleet of ships.  Some damn thing.  She kept the fifty dollars, and threw the card in the trash five minutes later.  Then she and Michael walked back to his tiny apartment. 
 

  She was like a wild animal that night.  Before they even got undressed, before they showered, after so many hours on their feet, she attacked Michael as soon as they came in the door.  She pushed him back onto the narrow bed. 
 

  “I want to fuck you,” she said. 
 

  She was so hot, she just ripped her stockings.  She couldn’t waste time taking them off.  She pulled them apart from the center, tearing them open.  She ripped open his pants, practically clawing at the zipper.  He was hard, reliably hard like teenage boys always are, and he had a very good size.  Already wet, her panties soaked, she pulled them aside, and mounted him.  She slid onto his hard cock and rode it.  She pressed herself against him. 
 

  “You should work catering with me more often,” he said.
 

  In the first minute, she came.  But she kept riding.  Over and over the orgasms pulsed through her, and she rode him and bounced on him and fucked him, until gradually, her climaxes became less intense, and subsided, and then she lay on top of him, her arms behind his neck, her head resting against his chest.  She listened to his heart beating, fast and hard at first, then after a while, slower and more gently, and then a while later, his chest was rising slowly and rhythmically, deep breaths, his heart beating very slow, and she realized he was asleep.
 

  But life with Michael wasn’t all sex and romance.  Far from it. 
 

  She thought of another time, a snowy night in winter, Michael curled into a corner on the floor of his room.  He was crying, weeping, pulling himself into a tighter and tighter ball, his knees against his chest, his arms wrapped around them.  She learned something that night - people in distress really did pull themselves into the fetal position.  She had heard of it, but never seen it.
 

  Why was he crying?  She couldn’t remember now.  Michael had a terrible family life.  It might have had something to do with that.  But Michael was an artist, too, and he had an artist’s temperament.  He was unstable.  He had bursts of euphoria where he was almost bouncing off the walls.  He had black depressions where he didn’t get out of bed for days. 
 

  She remembered sitting on the bed and staring down at him.  She was so young, so self-centered.  She remembered that with a pang of regret, and embarrassment.  On the one hand, she was worried for him.  On the other hand, it was a bit of a drag to have him like this.  It was the weekend.  She wanted to go out. 
 

  “Michael, what can I do for you?  Should I call someone?”      
 

  She looked up from her musings, and she saw that Michael was already signing the check.  She glanced at her watch.  It was 3:30.  They’d been in this restaurant for two and a half hours.  She realized they’d been talking most of that time, but she had no idea what they’d been saying. 
 

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Michael said.  “There’s only two trains a day, and if I miss the next one, I’m riding the bus.”
 

  “Of course I don’t mind,” she said.  “This has been lovely.” 
 

  They both hesitated, and there was a long moment where they stared into each other’s eyes.  Michael’s eyes were still that same bewitching green.  The moment became awkward, and Rachel looked away.
 

  “Well,” she said.  “If you’re ever in North Carolina, you have my number.  Stop by for a good home cooked meal.”  
 

  What she really wanted to say was: “Why don’t you stay here in town tonight?”
 

  Three          
 

  Michael rode the train north through the Maine countryside.  At times, his window gave tantalizing glimpses of the ocean, gone as quickly as they came.  No matter.  The view from his own living room was better than the view from the train.
 

  He had the print edition of the
Boston Globe
on his lap during the train ride.  He glanced at the pages, not really seeing them.  Mostly, he held the newspaper there to cover his erection.  Thinking about his time with Rachel had brought it on.  He couldn’t make it go away.
 

  He remembered how Rachel transferred to a college in Paris after their year together.  He never understood why she did that.  Whether they would be together, or whether they would break up, that was a decision she made by simply leaving the country.  It happened by default.  She was an art major, and wanted to see the great art works.  She was a vagabond, and she wanted to see the world.  These were the things she told him.  So she left for Europe, and she left Michael behind. 
 

  Once the decision was made, they tried everything.  They were going down different paths, and soon they would be apart, probably forever.  So they took that time to teach themselves, and each other, about sex.
 

  He thought of the first time he had anal with her.  It was the first time for both of them.  They had talked about it for days.  He wanted to do it.  Her ass was so round and inviting.  It was the perfect ass.  He longed to be inside of it. 
 

  Rachel?  She was merely curious.  A girlfriend of hers said it was her favorite way to have sex.  By a mile. 
 

  “That’s good enough for me,” Michael said. 
 

  “I’m not so sure,” Rachel said.
 

  “What’s the delay?”
 

  “I’m afraid it will hurt.”
 

  Michael smiled.  “I’ll be gentle.”
 

  She smiled back.  “You’ll have to take me by surprise.”
 

  “Okay.”
 

  And that’s how he did it.  He surprised her. 
 

  Rachel was nothing like a man, except she had one habit that was often associated with men.  She drifted off and fell asleep after an orgasm. 
 

  So Michael hatched a plan.  He would make her cum.  He would make her cum so much that she would lapse into a coma.  And he wouldn’t cum once.  Then, in the afterglow, as she faded away, he would take her.
 

  Surprise!
 

  * * * 
 

  Rachel walked aimlessly through the streets of Boston.
 

  She had lived in this city as a young married woman, and had loved it here.  It was summer, and since the girls were staying with their father for two weeks, she had returned for a visit.  She was staying with her friends Kate and Ron, and their two kids.  She would meet them at their house this evening, but she had hours to spend before then.
 

  She walked up into Beacon Hill, and enjoyed the old Victorian houses and the
views of the city.  As she walked, she daydreamed.
 

  She remembered how he had eaten her that day, so long ago.  He had made her cum so many times, and then she let her guard down. 
 

  She could picture the scene, on the narrow bed in her room.
 

  Below her, Michael’s tongue ran along the inside of her thigh.  Slowly, the tongue moved closer to Rachel’s hot, wet center.  She raised her hips a touch, and pushed Michael’s head down further, pushing it where she wanted.  He stuck his tongue into her wet slit, tentatively at first, but then with more authority.  She held his head there with a firm hand, Michael’s tongue licking and darting even as she groaned in pleasure.  
 

  “Lick it,” Rachel said.  “Oh, please lick my clit.  Please lick it.”
 

  Michael’s hot tongue licked her and licked her, until Rachel began to sweat, and she got the salty taste of her own sweat in her mouth. 
 

  She looked down at him.  She was so wet that Michael’s lips and cheeks began to get sloppy with moisture, her juices and Michael’s own saliva running down the side of his face.  Michael licked and delved his tongue deep into her.  It was an electric feeling.  It felt like his thick, strong tongue was so deep, it was all the way inside her body.   
 

  A sudden, shattering climax tore through Rachel, her whole body shuddering, bursting with pleasure, her mind shutting down, an explosion going off, synapses firing everywhere at once.  It was like a dream, an out of body experience.  For a long moment, she sailed weightless.       
 

  When she came back, she was still cumming.  A cat-like noise rose from her, a screech.  She pushed harder against Michael’s face, her body long and stiff as a board, quaking, trembling, her hands gripping the backs of her own thighs.  Hot fluid burst out of her, a torrent of it.  She could barely breathe.