Free Ten Years Gone — An Erotic Reunion by Sean Gerard Leah Page A

for me. I’d been consistently stressed throughout a bachelor’s in education and the master’s degree that followed it. I was consumed by work as an elementary school vice principal, then principal. I was banging a long line of women, none of whom meant anything to me.
    A good job, good pay, meaningless sex. Every guy’s dream life. Except for this guy, who wanted more than anything to find someone I could share my life with. A woman I could embrace as a friend even before taking as a lover. The fact that none of my endless string of relationships had lasted more than three months spoke to my inability to make that happen.
    Ten years ago now, Mareta and I had been friends. But the memory of how that friendship felt had become a weight around my neck that seemed intent on dragging down every relationship that followed. Ten years ago, I had felt a passion for Mareta that defined my sexuality, warping it around my inability to ever let her know how I felt about her. Friends without benefits, in the most severe way.
    Because being Mareta’s friend was important to me. And recognizing how strongly I felt about her, I knew that there was no way our friendship could survive the passion I felt. So for the sake of that friendship, I forced the passion aside. It was worth it, I told myself. I just didn’t know what kind of price I would pay in the end.
    To make it look good and to keep things safe, I actually dated Mareta’s sister a few times during senior year, a sophomore named Kim. She was a cute kid. A sweet kid. A kind of younger version of Mareta in her looks, but most definitely a kid, which meant I had no temptation to get anywhere even within striking distance of her pants. Those urges, I reserved exclusively for Mareta, embracing the undercurrent of sexual agony that underlay the intimacy of our friendship.
    Throughout senior year, we were the closest of always-laughing-over-the-same-stupid-jokes friends. Finishing-algebra-and-physics-homework-together-in-the-student-lounge friends. Late-night-phone-calls-to-bitch-about-your-parents friends. I-wish-we-weren’t-such-good-friends-because-I’d-love-to-fuck-you friends.
    I can still remember the summer evening that last one came to light.
    A bunch of us had been hanging in the park past sunset, then when it was time to go, I offered Mareta a ride like I always did. We’d been talking all day and kept it up on the drive home, laughing like we always did. Her house was dark when we rolled up her long driveway, her parents and sisters out at dinner and a movie, she said.
    She thanked me for the ride. She leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “Sometimes I wish we weren’t such good friends,” she said. “I could really go for you.” She smiled as she opened the door. I watched her skip up the driveway in the glow of my headlights, her amazing ass barely contained by her tight shorts. She waved to me as she disappeared inside the house.
    I can still remember how I had to jack off three times that night before my hard-on finally eased and I could force myself to sleep. That wasn’t the first night I’d jacked off to thoughts of Mareta, not by a long shot. But it was the night when I started to dream about all the things that could have been. Dreaming about all the things I already knew were never going to be.
     
    The fantasy is a blur. It’s slightly different each time, never the same specifics playing out in terms of the action.
    We’re on the floor of the storeroom, me on my back and her on top of me, sucking on my tongue as she rubs her luscious tits against my bare chest and her crotch against my rock-hard cock still in my pants.
    She’s on a chair, leaning back against the wall as I pull her tight jeans down to expose her sweet pussy. Her chocolate-dark pubes are trimmed neatly but left long in a beautiful swirl above her clit. I spread her legs as I lift them to my shoulders, pushing in to trace my tongue along her wet slit.
    We’re sitting together, both