Cathartism

I can remember the exact moment when time stood still. I can't remember what we were doing though, but suddenly, the world was hushed for us and we looked deeply into each other's eyes. Agonisingly slowly, our lips touched and we kissed. It seemed to me that it would last forever and that I had stopped breathing. Then I felt her hand gently touch my budding breast. I remember we were both crying, aching for more yet at 13, not really knowing what that 'more' might be. I felt Sarah's hand brush my knees and I felt the slight pressure that made me open my legs and allow her to travel up to the warm moistness of my panties. Being outside helped, and when she cupped my pussy in her hand I melted. I don't remember the orgasm being strong or powerful, but I do remember that, in that precious, sacred moment, I knew I was hers. She guided my hand between her legs and into her panties. She pressed my finger gently inside her, and I felt her pussy welcome me in.

Since then? Oh, how much we have done. And in so many erotic places. Sarah and I have made love on tropical beaches, in rain forests, in jungle clearings. We have explored heights of unutterable tenderness, and violent passion. I remember her laying in my arms on a moonlit beach. We were both naked and had made love there for over an hour. I was still savouring her taste when it occurred to me that I would love her to pee on my face. Not a word was spoken, but she gently pulled away from me and squatted over my face. How did she know? I remember another ocassion when, in a field of ripe corn, I knew she needed my tongue in her ass. I knew she needed me to be rough with her. We were always like that. Not a word needed to be said, we knew.

I remember too sensing her curiosity about how it would be to go with a man. I remember setting it up for her with my brother. I remember her delight in telling me what they had done. I remember her child-like amazment when she felt his sperm running down her thigh. I remember her desperation to be in my arms again afterwards. Was it so strange to taste her after that? No. Not in the least. Perhaps in a way it was the nearest I would ever come to having Sarah ejaculate inside me.

What I remember most of all, was that it is true that there is 'the one'. One person with whom it is possible to join completely and utterly. From those first immature schoolgirl fumblings, the adventure of touching each other in class, the gentle flower of sexual maturity opened into something rich and delicate.

So many nights when we fell asleep in each other's arms, weeping with joy, and covered in a light sheen of perspiration. The times when she would want it rough? Oh yes, there were times when we both wanted that. Sometimes I would tie her, force her, call her all the filthy names. Sometimes she would climax so hard she would lose control of herself and urinate on me. Did I mind? Of course not. How could one object to the ultimate benediction of her love? Me? Yes, I too would want her to dominate me. At those times, I craved pain. She would slap me, cane me, and, at my request, even draw blood.

Oh yes. Sarah and I lived and loved as few others do.

As I write this, the snow has begun to melt. On her grave, the first crocuses of spring are showing their heads. Sarah loved the spring. I visit her daily, but not with the sadness of grief. I visit her with the joy that such a person lived and that, above all, she chose me.