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

of us naked and Mareta straddling me. Her tits are thrust against my face, firmer than I ever imagined as I suck her nipples like a hungry child. We’re eighteen years old, both of us starving for this first feeling of each other. So wet, so hard, so ready. My cock is so thick, her pussy so tight as she pushes down against me, gasping as she takes me a half-inch at a time. I’m spitting to my hand in between kissing her, my saliva and hers mixed together to lube me up, getting me as wet as I need to be to ply her tightness for the first time.
    I’m shooting inside her. Leaning over her where she lays back on a stack of boxes, legs wrapped around me. She cries out with the voice of a songbird as my body spasms and locks me to her, my cock crammed inside her tight pussy to the hilt. I fill her with my cum, fill her with my scream that makes her laugh for joy even as she stops my cry with a desperate hand to my mouth. There’s a school’s worth of people outside the door, and all I want to do is shout out that I love her.
    I love you.
     
    I loved you. That’s the secret, Mareta.
     
    I almost junked the email. And then just on a whim, I clicked through to the reunion website. I saw embarrassing pictures of senior year, the prom, the grad ceremonies. Hairstyles best left forgotten. One shot of me in a tux that I’d kill to be able to fit into now.
    I saw a picture of her, packed into the pale-yellow backless one-shoulder number she wore to the prom. I saw the list of people who had already committed to attending the reunion festivities. Her name was there. Mareta. A short note that she’d filled in on the web form. Looking forward to seeing old friends.
     
    I loved you, Mareta.
    That’s what I’m going to tell you tonight.

 
    Part Two
     
    That senior prom, Mareta had gone as the date of Rob Fitzgerald, defensive tackle for our first-place-that-year football team. I’d already asked Kim to go with me because I kind of felt obliged to, knowing that when I headed out of state for college in July, that was it for us. I knew that Mareta and Rob had no chance of ever being an item anyway. His only real interest in her was the profile she presented in the tight t-shirts she loved to wear, and she was too smart socially to turn down a casual date with a football player when the opportunity presented itself.
    I had a good time with Kim that night, all things considered. Mareta and Rob didn’t even make it through to the last dance, which only added to my enjoyment. I never got the whole story, but from where I was sitting, it looked like he was unable to keep his hands off her and she got pissed about it. He left with three of his defensive-line cronies. Mareta got a ride home with other friends.
    I had to drive Kim home that night. But all the time since then, I’ve thought about what would have happened if I hadn’t.
     
    Mareta stands at the juice bar, watching as Rob makes his exit. She’s alone and off to the side of the crowd, so that no one really sees her except me where I walk up to her. When she sees me, she flashes a smile.
    “ Bad night,” she says ruefully.
    “ No,” I say. “Not anymore.” And I see her look of surprise, feeling the faint tremble in her as I reach up to stroke her hair.
    We’re outside, walking through the gardens that run along two sides of the gym. The ever-present layer of junk food wrappers and other detritus that builds up here year-round has been cleaned up for prom, the one night of the year that these stands of juniper and boxwood and weeping willows look as romantic as they should.
    The moon is almost full, high in the sky as Mareta leads me into the shadows. Her hand is shaking as she pulls me close to her, leaning up to kiss me hard. Then she’s pushing me back against the gym wall and dropping to her haunches in front of me. The pale-yellow dress is silver-gold in the moonlight, swept up and over her legs so that it doesn’t get dirty. I get a great view this way of