I stared down at his erect manhood. It bobbed up at me by way of greeting. I licked the tip of my middle finger and delicately traced the edge of the large helmet. Mr. Past leaned back in his seat and moaned.
Unable to resist I wrapped my hand around his girth and squeezed. I could feel the pulsing against my palm. For a few minutes I reveled in the smooth texture of his skin, the length of him, the power of the spear that throbbed in my hand. And then I couldn’t help myself. I had to taste him.
The smell of pine scented soap filled my nostrils as I opened my mouth to accommodate him. At first I could only take the head and a couple of inches, but gradually my jaw relaxed and I took him deeper and deeper. This I remembered. Like it was yesterday. The feel of him against the back of my throat. I swallowed, clenching my muscles around him. A satisfied moan was my reward.
“Are you going to?” he asked.
I nodded, not letting him leave me.
“Will you open your mouth and let me see it?”
I nodded again.
I pulled back and began flicking my tongue around and around the tip, faster and faster. And then, as I felt him pulse, I slowed, and switched to long deep strokes with my mouth against my hand, creating a fluid rhythm that would take him to the brink. My lips clenched around his shaft, working with my throat and tongue to pleasure him. I wanted to give him this. This memory.
“Marian,” he whispered, “almost… there…”
I hummed in acknowledgement and felt his balls tighten, but didn’t stop the steady pace. Three seconds later the hot stream of his release filled my mouth. I slowed, but kept milking him. When he finally relaxed I pulled away. And opened my mouth for him to see.
“Oh wow,” he said.
I smiled, reached for my almost empty iced tea, removed the lid, and spit his seed in the cup.
“You know it gives me a tummy ache,” I said in explanation.
He leaned in quickly and kissed me—hard—not minding the taste of himself still on my lips. I kissed back with all the longing for a reality between us that didn’t materialize. That wouldn’t. But that didn’t keep me from loving him with a love that wouldn’t fade. No matter the distance or the years we put between us.
We sat and reminisced for a few more minutes before he drove me back to the hospital. Back in my grandmother’s room I thought about what I had done. I tried to feel guilty for it. It went against my commitment to Nathan. But I didn’t. There was no rationalizing away what I had just done. Mr. Past and I came before Nathan. Somehow the love of auld lang syne was completely separate from the love of present and future. It was like I was living in parallel worlds that didn’t touch. One did not affect the other.
The only guilt I felt was for my lack of guilt.
My phone chimed. I looked down, expecting a text from Mr. Past. But it wasn’t from him. It was from Cameron. “Hope you had a safe trip home,” it read.
“I’m still here.” I texted back, with an explanation of what had happened with my grandmother.
After he shared his concerned he sent, “Do you know how long you’ll be staying?”
“Why do you ask?” I replied.
“I really want to see you again,” he answered.
I sat there, staring at my phone, and thought a long moment before I sent, “Me too.”