The roses are blooming in the rather plain jar on my desk. It’s a canning jar, it once held pickles I think, like the jars that used to line the shelves in your kitchen. The florist thinks I’m ridiculous for my regular purchase of three roses, one pale pink, two darker pink, but they remind me so much of you.
Sometimes I sit here and stare at the sweet smelling flowers and wonder if I’m obsessed. Even though we’ve got several time zones and even more years between us, I couldn’t let you go.
I was on the beach the other day, the small, almost private beach in Point Lobos near my cottage in Carmel. The ocean was cool as usual, and the beach well protected by the cliffs the water had carved after years of battering the ragged sandstone. The stairs leading from the top of the cliffs down to the beach are rather rickety, but that never stopped me. You know how I can be.
It’s late in the season now, so most of the tourists have left. The coastal air is growing chillier, something I’ve always enjoyed. Point Lobos was nearly deserted, not unusual for a mid-week evening. The beach was empty, so I felt safe enough to get naked. I remember how you used to get excited and complain about my lack of modesty all the time. There wasn’t much sunlight left, but I enjoyed laying naked on the beach anyway. It’s such a sinfully delicious feeling. I remember how you used to tease me.
Naturally, I started touching myself, my chest, my belly, my thighs. I couldn’t help but recall how I used to touch myself in front you, just like that. You were always bashful and admonishing whenever I went nude in public, but you never failed to watch me touch my body. As embarrassing as it was, you were excited by it. I can still smell your arousal whenever I indulge in my public nudity fetish.
The shadow jolted me from my very pleasant daydreams about you. She was standing between me and the ocean, water dripping down her legs. Oddly enough, she reminded me of you. She is nothing like you, but she’s long and lithe, full of a feline grace and infinitely deep eyes. I was instantly infatuated.
“I didn’t know this was a nude beach,” she said. She had one of those soft voices you love to so much.
“It’s not,” I told her, but you know me, I didn’t make a move to cover myself. She shrugged in an elegant European manner and dropped a pair of flippers into the sand.
“May I share your blanket? I did not know how fine the sand is on this beach,” she gestured at the pristine white sand that was as smooth and clingy as cinnamon. Being the kind-hearted nudist, I scooted over. She surprised me by slipping out of her wet bikini and sitting next to me.
I leaned up on my elbows and stared at her beautifully shaped breast with her nipple puffy from the cool ocean. When I looked up at her face, she had the same half-amused, half-chiding expression that you’ve always given me when I did something you found terribly amusing. I smiled sheepishly. “You have beautiful breasts.”
“So do you. You would like to kiss them?”
“Ki-?” Like you’ve always done, she finds it easy to throw me off balance.
She didn’t answer me, she merely leaned over me, brushing her sweet brown nipple over my lips. Instinctively, I opened them and touched the hard peak with my tongue. I tasted salty ocean and warm, sun-browned skin. Closing my eyes, I gently laved her nipple with slow, loving strokes. I could have lain there all day sucking on her. She wasn’t so inclined. She dipped down, meeting my mouth with hers instead.
I haven’t been a part of such a wet, torrid kiss since we parted. We kissed like lovers who’d known each other forever, not like two women who’d just chanced to meet on a deserted beach in California. As you had always done, her hand immediately went for my sex. Her fingers parted my lips and slipped inside.
The exquisite sensation of another woman gently stroking my vagina was unbelievably good. Her fingers are long and delicate, agile and dexterous. They knew all of the right spots to pay attention to with none of the fumblings inexperienced men make. Men are penetrating, opening and intrusive. She was gentle and petting, coaxing me to open to her.
The lips of my mouth clung to hers with the same bittersweet ferocity the lips of my pussy clung to her fingers. I hadn’t given myself over to the loving lust of another since you’d left me that day, I never thought to again. Certainly not within moments of meeting and without even exchanging names. Yet there I was, closing my eyes and giving my body over into her keeping. I wrapped my arms around her neck and tugged her down onto me, covering me fully.
She was still damp with the cool sea water, her flesh pimpled from the chill. Assuming control, I rolled her beneath me, to warm her with the heat of my body and the residual warmth of the sand beneath my blanket. Our lips touched again, exchanging long, wet kisses that set a rare fire boiling through me. A fire that has been missing since you’d left me. Her arms came around me, clasping behind my back and holding me with a sweet ferocity that was so like you, and yet so uniquely her.
I don’t know how long we lay there making love to each other with the play of lips and meanderings of our tongues. I remember it being nearly dark by the time I pulled away from her, the cold of the beach air bringing me to my senses. I rolled to her side and cuddled her, shivering, never wanting to let her go.
“It is cold,” she pointed out softly.
“Come with me. I live close by in Carmel.”
She smiled softly through the twilight and agreed. I felt a rush of keen excitement and a touch of regret. When I took her to my pristine bed, one that had no traces of another person but myself, I would forsake all of my memories of you. I lingered a moment, touching the tender curves of her cheek, gently letting a piece of you go.
We dressed in only what was necessary to prevent from being arrested. As I had walked to the beach, we went to her car and drove to my house. She smiled at its cottage-like simplicity and wondered at the verdancy of all of my plants. My home is a lush retreat, you know how I adore pothos and ivies all over the place.
I dithered, how unlike me, not quite knowing what to do. We were dirty from the beach, but it was supper time and hospitality dictates you feed your guests. She asked to use my shower, no doubt the dried salt water itched, then tugged me in with her. I had never bathed with another woman, I did not know how sweet it could be. After we’d shampooed, we washed each other. I worked my fragrant soap into a washcloth and sloughed it with fascination over the curves and planes of her body.
She has a perfect body, rich with a woman’s ripeness and imperfections. Her left breast is slightly larger than her right, though her nipples are equally sensitive. She has a narrow scar over her right hip, she’d received it in a bicycle accident years ago, and she is shy of her feet. I slid my hand, separated from her flesh by only the thin cloth, slowly over her, exploring her to my heart’s content. At times my tongue followed behind, gently laving the freshly washed nipple or the curve of her shoulder. I sucked on the fingers of her left hand while washing those on her right.
Her eyes were closed and head tossed back when I’d finished with her torso. I paused, drinking in the sight of her uniquely feminine beauty, then squatted before her. My eyes were level with her pubis, the musky flavor of her womanhood was only a lick away. I wanted to taste her, to know her intimately in that loving way, but not here. Not yet. I stared, instead, at the pouting lips peeking through her curly hair and concentrated on washing her legs and feet. When there was nothing left, I let my fingers linger between her thighs, teasing and washing her most private area.
She did the same to me, thoroughly washing my body with an erotic gentility that felt like the petals of a lily tracing my skin. My nipples stood up and it took everything I had not to cry out with the pleasure of her touch. I closed my eyes and reveled in the sensuality of her care, intensely aware of every inch of my flesh that she caressed. It took forever for her to finish her exquisite torture, but no where near long enough. She rose like a siren from the floor of the shower, the water rushing over her body like I wanted to be over her, and pressed her lips to mine.
This kiss was full of a hot promise of what was to come, the completion of the loving we’d begun on the beach and fanned the flames to in the shower. It was everything a fully erotic kiss should be, except for lengthy. She cut it off quickly and stepped from the shower. Silently, we dried ourselves and retreated to the kitchen.
I did not wish to put clothing on, to put a barrier between us that would later have to be removed. Perhaps later, another time I would unwrap her from fine lingerie like a precious gift, but not tonight. So we created and ate a light supper of cold chicken and salad completely naked, interspersing kisses and caresses like some man’s wet dream come true. Supper was interminable, too long for my craving of her, yet too short to get to know her.
She was in Carmel to take pictures of the local scenery and further down to Big Sur. She had come from New York City on a shoe string budget to follow her dream of California coastal photography reminiscent of Ansel Adams’ stark black and white scenes. It had been my luck to meet her on Point Lobos that afternoon, she had been scheduled to bike to Big Sur, but her bike had a bent frame from the plane trip and still hadn’t been repaired.
I immediately insisted she stay with me until she had concluded her business in Carmel, which I hoped was never. She smiled shyly and agreed to do so. Even though you had been such a part of my thoughts every single day for so long, you had become a fading memory to me. When she agreed to stay with me, I could not recall what you looked like. Her smiling face confused itself with you.
I tried to dredge up my memories of you as I took her hand and led her to my bedroom, but nothing was there but your sad, wistful smile when you said goodbye. I looked her, hoping my uncertainty didn’t show, and lost another piece of you.
“It will be all right,” she murmured gently, squeezing my hand. I smiled at her, someday I would tell her about you, but not today.
“It will be sublime because it’s you,” I told her.
She didn’t look around my bedroom much, merely stared at the bed a moment, then rolled into it and opened her arms for me. Laughing, I fell into them, reveling in her body and her warmth and her invitation. She is such a beautiful woman, full of love, vibrancy, and energy. She touched me deeply then, as deeply as she touches me now.
My laughter smothered with our kiss. This was the kiss I’d been waiting for, the intimate consummation of our relationship. We’d met only hours ago, yet we are mated as only people who are meant to be together can be mated. You tried to explain this to me once, I refused to listen, choosing to believe that I was your mate. But I wasn’t, was I? I wasn’t what you needed. And you weren’t what I needed, she is. Parts of you, mannerisms and the like, are the same, but everything else is so very different from her.
My tongue glided against hers, sinking into her mouth with a feeling of homecoming. Our hand intertwined, content to merely be together in the most intimate manner. We kiss with our eyes open at times, gazing into each other as if to see the depth of our souls reflected in those half slitted windows. Other times, it’s with eyes closed, full of the heat of desire.
I broke the hand clasp first, pulling my fingers from hers to trace the elegant line of her arm to her shoulder. Her neck, delicate and graceful, fascinated me. I stroked her here and there, testing the firm resilience of her flesh with the pads of my fingertips. She shivered, moaning that she liked to be touched there. I leaned down and licked along the strong, throbbing vein, then gently sucked beneath her ear. She moaned again, incoherently this time, arching her body into mine. I moaned back from how hot the evidence of her arousal made me.
You know that sweet feeling. How wonderful it feels to have your lover writhe in your arms, panting from your touch, growing hotter with every kiss. You know how powerful you feel when you are able to turn your lover into liquid fire. I felt the power, and I wanted to return it to her double fold or more. I wanted her to feel the same heady rush, to know that I needed her as badly as she needed me.
I kissed her lips then, ravaging her mouth and accepting the thrust of her tongue. I slid my hands down to her breasts, nestling against mine. I rocked my body against hers, spreading the wetness from my pussy along her thigh. She pressed against me, rubbing me intimately until she pulled a whimper from me. I slid off of her then.
She watched me silently with soft eyes, ready for whatever I would give her. I gently parted her thighs and slipped between them, coming face to face with the center of her body once again. This time her musky fragrance was stronger and I would not deny myself. She was breathtakingly beautiful, tufted with soft, gleaming hair and lips that pouted like the full petals of an orchid. I pressed a kiss to those lips, inhaling her for an endless moment, then slid my tongue inside.
She moaned again, my name and a few loving praises. The sound of her husky voice reverberated through the silent room, punctuated by her grunts and the sounds of her thrashing the sheets. I slid my tongue deeply into her, the through those lovely lips to her begging clitoris. It rose to meet me, giving me its firm regard while I gently laved it with the tip of my tongue. I slid first one, then two fingers into her, stimulating her undulating inner pussy.
She bucked her hips, forcing herself onto my mouth and fingers. Her hands slipped into my hair, curling almost painfully into fists, then relaxing to massage my scalp. I lapped at her clit, loving her taste, while she shivered around me. After a few moments she gasped, then came, her thick, rich cream covering my hands and my face. I kept at her until she pushed me off, sated.
I climbed her body, cuddling with her and exchanging lingering, lackadaisical kisses. Yes, even in that most intimate of moments I betrayed her and thought about you. I forced your name through my skull, thinking about our times together, how we’d laughed and loved. But they were gone. There was only her and her delicate taste and her graceful smile. I’d lost the last piece of you.
Eventually she slipped between my legs, plying my pussy with the same luscious licking that I’d given hers. Later we slept, then loved each, this time together in the classic sixty-nine position with her body rocking above mine. I adored that, savoring the taste and heat of her sex while she tongued mine. We do that frequently, as if we can’t get enough of each other. Hopefully we never will.
I love her very much and I’ve asked her to stay with me, move into my Carmel retreat and be my mate forever. We’ve handfasted in the traditional old Saxon way, her and I beneath the trees vowing to remain true to one another. It was merely a repetition of a silent, yet more powerful vow that we’d made the night before in my bed. She has replaced you completely in my thoughts and in my heart. I still love you, but like you’ve always wanted me to love you, as a friend. Your roses will be replaced by orchids growing in a clay pot on my desk.
I am writing to you, not because you will ever see this, but because I must say goodbye to you. Tonight I will go down to the beach with her and your roses. We’ll sit on a log beside a fire watching the waves take the roses out into the moonlit ocean. I’ll tell her about you and how I’ve always loved you and how I will cherish your memory as a friend. I love you, my friend, but, as you’ve always known that I’d have to, I am letting you go. It hurts to tell you, I’ve loved you for so long and you’ve been such an integral part of my life that I can’t say it without weeping. But I’ll say it anyway. I have to say it. It must be said.