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Not Regret  

rm_freednwild 62M
19 posts
9/2/2008 7:17 am

Last Read:
9/23/2008 2:15 pm

Not Regret


I could feel her nipple, centimeters from mine, her warm breast, still damp from our hours of love making, pressed lightly, covering my nipple, full, firm, round, resplendent. I was still in that state of heightened sensitivity, almost transcendentally lucid. Yet I could not move, exhausted, lying on my back, arms spread. I could not open my eyes. Yet I could see her face, those warm brown eyes gazing upon my face. I could feel a few strands of that luminescent, long, brown hair upon my face. With my eyes closed, I could see how her hair framed her face, curving with gravity as it rested upon her shoulder, slightly tousled, catching the dappled sun in her highlights. She stayed like that for moments, I could feel her breathing, now slow and relaxed. Moments more passed and there was a slight catch in a breath drawn in. Almost as if in pain.
And then a long litany, in a voice almost pleading, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…..”
I could not move.
Could not figure out how to even put my arm around her.
Becca.
She had been sixteen a little longer than I had been eighteen. One of my two youthful loves who had made the unprecedented decision for my group of post/neo free love friends to wait until sixteen to cast aside their virginity. I had deflowered neither. Laura and I had drifted apart before she came of the age of her choosing. Becca and I had become lovers soon after she had finished her long, resolved wait.
We had sojourned into the woods of the Institute for Advanced Studies, known as the “Quaker Woods”. The woods of many a stroll of Einstein and other thinkers, whose brilliance verged upon the beyond spiritual.
We had taken off our clothes in haste, not realizing that our proximity to the Raritan River was a haven for vile and horrible, blood sucking, swarming mosquitoes. Laughing and giggling we grabbed our clothes, day pack, shoes and boots and deer hopped to a safe little depression, where those clothes made our nest to lie upon.
For hours we made love, in as many ways as our not quite masterful minds could conjure. Finally, in that position so typical, she was wracked by earth shattering orgasm after orgasm. Her first time to be there.
“Stop. Stop”, she cried, in the end unable to handle the sensory overload.
And so we lay wrapped in each other’s arms, until, finally I fell over on my back, irregardless of the bracken and detritus of the hard woods.

It would be untrue to say that I was not also a little terrified of the knowledge that soon we would separate.

That little, stodgy university town, with all its airs and norms, protocols and snobbery, rules and regulations fit me like a woman’s size four<b> spandex </font></b>outfit would fit me now.
I felt constrained and trapped. If I were to bust the seams of that town of existential claustrophobia, who knows how much the earth would tremble. Or such is the vain musings of youth.
I needed to return to the West of my heritage, where the skies were as expansive as the heart bursting in my breast. Where I wouldn’t have to worry about my quest for things unknown to tear this small horizon asunder.
We had spoken of this and it had been decided. I would return to Colorado and she to Philly to finish school. With the heedless hope of youth we thought it would all work out.
We had mutual permission, or so we tried to convince ourselves and each other, to see, to make love, with others. Just so long as we kept our hearts true, to each other.
Stupid .

Back in those days, that fabled time before the advent of AIDS, my friends and I had a well established protocol when it came to contraception. I still struggle with the thought that it became, or it seemed to be a function of young womens’ mothers making sure their daughters had diaphragms or the pill, at any rate, contraception was generally the role of the woman. Condoms being an undesirable, lesser option. Stupid , especially us boys, who were all too happy and oblivious to enjoy things that were given us, delivered on stolen silver platters.
We always asked, we were always safe.
Stupid .

And so it came to pass, over the course of the next year that a friend and I became lost in passion, as the fire sank low in the tipi, a few sparks flying up through the smoke flaps as we loved all night.
I will never, could never, even if my life depended on it, regret the birth of my .
I only wish that I hadn’t broken Becca’s heart.

Years passed, Alicia and I were torn apart like cheap sail cloth in a gale of the follies of responsibilities too young rendered.
Over the years we would come to live in and appreciate our undying love for each other, if not so often with our bodies as with our souls.

Years passed.
I came to love a woman whose ten years younger were an echo of my earlier love of not quite two years younger. She, of course, would need to go on. To break free of constraints, real or imagined, that, perhaps, a few more years of maturity might make irrelevant.

It was what I pretty much knew and would turn out to be, our last love making.
We made love for hours.
Finally, culminating with me on my back, her back to my front as she delicately allowed my engorged penis to penetrate her anus, her sculpted arms and strong hands guiding me in, both feverish. Her strength, so remarkable, as she arched her back upon full engagement. My hands grappling her strong belly, her breasts, stroking her clitoris until she was wracked by earth shattering orgasm after orgasm.
We collapsed into the bed and she fell asleep with the light of the city streets bathing her long elegant beauty.
Those city lights, which I could not stand, those city lights that were calling her away.

I rose to my elbow, my nipple lightly upon her small, three times a mother’s breast.
I gazed into her insanely beautiful exotic face. Those impossibly full and shapely lips, the high cheekbones where Mediterranean meets Native American, those wickedly long eyes that Nefertitti would kill for.

And I repeated a litany that, as I said it, brought all those years crashing back into my conscience.

“I love you, I love you, I love you…..”

Of course I would wish later, upon reflection, that I had, all those years ago.
Taken her in my arms and pulled her close.
Not just to feel her length against my length, our legs intertwining.
Not just to feel her round, full, youthful breasts against my chest.
But to feel her quickened heart, beating, against my chest, as she felt mine.
And to join her in an otherworldly harmony,

“I Love you, I love you, I love you, I love You…..”

rm_freednwild 62M
92 posts
9/2/2008 4:32 pm

    Quoting  :

Promised ya something more titillating didn't I?
I certainly have had more than my share.


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