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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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--------------------------------------------------------
(c) 2005 by Eau Haute Bleu. All rights reserved. For-
profit use is strictly prohibited. Explicit permission 
is granted for electronic re-distribution, without 
changes. This story belongs to the author, and the fact 
of this posting should not be construed as limiting or 
releasing these rights in any way. If you keep the 
story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as well.
--------------------------------------------------------

The Best Medicine 
by Eau Haute Bleu (eauhautebleu1980@hotmail.com)
 
***

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. (MF, rom)

***

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.

END

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. 

My E-mail is: eauhautebleu1980@hotmail.com. I am also
very grateful for the proofreading done by my friend O.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 33