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I’ll never leave you alone,
I’ll never leave just a memory.
I’ll never leave you alone in the garden
Where nothing grows.
– Harry Nilsson
Amelia Thorn, ‘Amy’ to pretty much everyone except her daughter, looks across the Corian vanity top in the master bathroom, to the mirror fixed to the papered wall. The wall is patterned with small and large seashells, like an island beach arranged by an anal retentive decorator and then turned vertical, the pattern Sarah’s choice when they first moved in. In the mirror, she idly gazes at her nude torso, considering the slight red glow of the skin above her breasts, and the slight itchiness she feels there, tiny red spots she thinks might just be signs of a moderate sun burn.
Her breasts are modest in size, B cups, and unaffected by the dermal turmoil above them. They look even creamier than normal, due to the contrast with her reddened, exposed skin, and her pink nipples and areolae match the reddish glow of her upper chest. She’s happy that her breasts are still quite proud and firm, but doesn’t believe that is the most important concern in her world.The love of her family outweighs any minor issues of passing beauty.
Sunburn is a new thing to her – she’s now pretty much an indoor animal, her office job keeps her tied to a desk. She’s trying to decide whether it might be better to let sunburned skin peel off on its own, or help it along. She thinks she might be in the help-it-along faction, as she’s always been a tad impatient for most of her 34 years of life. She sees no reason to exclude overexposure to the sun from that general life view.
She hopes that will be the toughest decision she faces in these last few days of vacation remaining to her. She inhales deeply, heaving her modest breasts upward , then, exhaling rapidly in exasperation, and her cute breasts move downward. Her nipples are small, but will grow when she’s sexually excited. She sighs, and brushes her neatly manicured fingers through her short black hair. She thinks it looks like a birds nest, but it’s a certainty that Sarah likes the look. That’s good enough for Amy. She loves Sarah more than life, and almost as much as she loves Katy.
The previous day, a Saturday, her small but cozy family – her wife Sarah, 30, and their small daughter Katy, just six years old, had gone on a beach outing to the Gulf of Mexico, at a tiny public beach in Port Lavaca, Texas. The beach day was typical for the area, with powdery, white sand, like refined sugar underfoot, gently lapping waves coming off the green water of the Gulf and speaking in small, murmuring voices as they lapped the shoreline, and a soft breeze blowing into shore at a steady pace, cooling the hot, sunny day, something like the experience of opening a refrigerator door after stirring a steamy pot of pasta, a brief respite from the heat, but appreciated nonetheless.
“I’d better start wearing sun screen,” Amy thinks. “The sun seems stronger than when I was a little girl.” The thought of being a little girl again, sends her memory back to her life as part of a different family. She can remember pirouetting on the beach in New Jersey nearly nude, her long, glossy black hair tied in a ponytail, and whipping about recklessly, one of her first memories as a four-year old, giggling madly as her mother, Elizabeth (Beth to her friends), chased her and hugged her, once Amy let herself be caught. In the distance she could see her father looking on, trying to hold back a smile, but failing miserably, finally chuckling with love for his impetuous young daughter. The memory gives Amy a warm glow inside, to match her exterior glow, as she remembers her mother and father, both dead now for five years, victims of urban violence.
Her mother and father, both long-tenured professors at nearby Towson University in Maryland, had been walking in downtown Baltimore on a cool, wet spring day, having just attended a Sunday seminar on “The Benefits of Long-Term Financial Planning.” It was one of those scheduled meetings held at slightly seedy chain motels, that have tickets and ‘limited seating’, and seem as though they’re exclusive to just you (and perhaps a friend), when in fact anybody at all can get in, even without a ticket, as long as they look as though they could afford the speaker’s book. The book always coincidentally happens to be on sale in the back of the room, at a folding table watched over by the speaker’s wife, who could probably tell us all something about ‘Long Term Financial Planning’, and why you don’t really want to end up giving those kinds of seminars when you should already be retired somewhere in Arizona.
Her father Michael, his newly purchased copy of the speaker’s book in hand, had tried, perhaps foolishly, to come to the aid of a seemingly unconscious man lying on a sidewalk by the Baltimore street. The man was a drunken vagrant, and he was in the midst of delirium tremens, better known as ‘the DTs’. Mistakenly seeing Amy’s father as a illegal bahis nightmare out of some 50’s ‘B’ sci-fi movie, the vagrant had abruptly knifed her father as he tried to pick the man up, thinking he was defending himself.
The long, slightly rusted, blade of the man’s knife severed her father’s aorta expertly, though the assailant himself was only a drunken amateur at the art of breaking hearts. The police had come immediately, but as it turned out they were completely unable to help Michael Thorn, nor were they of much help a week later when her mother had died of a heart attack at the funeral of beloved husband and father Michael. The drunk’s knife had mortally pierced two hearts, and done severe damage to Amy’s – though, of course she had been nowhere near the scene.
Becoming an orphan is never easy, no matter at what age it happens, and if it hadn’t been for Sarah and Katy, Amy wondered if she, too, might not have succumbed to grief, as her mother did. The aging her mother went through in one week was startling, and taught Amy that, under the right (or rather, wrong), circumstances, even otherwise healthy people could find their life span abruptly cut short.
Shaking her head slightly and blinking her blue eyes, as if to sift out the bad memories, while keeping the good, Amy returns to her musing on the present.
She’s taken a full week off from work, a vacation she thinks she richly deserves, as she’s just been proclaimed Delco and Adams Associates’ “Certified Public Accountant of the Month” for the Victoria, Texas metropolitan regional office. As people have often suspected, and I’m sure you will agree, the accounting business is riddled with tension. Certified public accountants rarely maintain their nerve and sanity for more than 40 or 50 years in the pressure cooker of adding numbers in the most advantageous ways for their clients.
“Gosh,” Amy had thought to herself, “There was that one accountant who had cracked under the unrelenting pressure of schmoozing clients, chatting up female comptrollers, and breakfasts with boards of directors, and massacred 3 tarpon on the deep sea fishing boat party the company had set up last year for the Gulf Coast office.”
Amy imagines that many varieties of fish still tell their spawn of the horrors of that day, as an object lesson. Of course, fishing wasn’t really Amy’s thing – she preferred to spend her time with Sarah and Katy. On this particular day of her vacation, the day after their beach visit, she had shopped for wood flooring for their sunroom, and had gathered color chips for the wall paint to show Sarah, to see if they might agree on a decorating scheme.
She’s musing over the humdrum nature of her life, and how she really couldn’t imagine a better one, when Sarah walks over to Amy’s comfy place on the love seat, holding a small glass of California chablis. Two thoughts occur to Amy in rapid succession: the first, that the wine is probably for her, since she drinks wine, and her lovely 30 year old partner favors Scotch. The second thought, hard on the heels of the first, is that Sarah probably wants something from her, and is commencing the ‘butter-Amy-up’ process.
“Here, babe, you looked like you could use a nice glass of wine,” Sarah says, with a smile, her beautifully white teeth flashing. Amy has already noticed that Sarah had chosen to wear her sheer blue halter top, which shows off the shape of her breasts nicely, and her shoulder-long ash blonde hair rests on it fetchingly. Her lips are newly refreshed with a particularly vibrant shade of rose lipstick, and shine alluringly, causing Amy’s pulse to quicken slightly. Sarah’s calves are smooth and pleasingly-shaped, and as her legs are demurely crossed, her long skirt pulls up slightly, exposing her tanned skin.
Sarah’s hips are broader than when they first met, her breasts are heavier and sagging just a little more. Sarah has gracefully accepted the inevitable weight gain after Katy’s birth six years before, and she’s shaped it to suit both herself and Amy. It’s all part of quite a beautiful process to Amy, as they grow older together, looking forward to when they’re both a couple of crotchety old dames, but still in love with each other. In any case, they know they have a long time together before they get to that point.
“How was your day?” Amy says, looking into Sarah’s sea-green eyes, though Sarah’s blonde bangs partially hide them. Sarah’s eyes still captivate Amy, even after being together for twelve years. Amy’s hand idly caresses Sarah’s cotton-covered thigh, the print pattern of her dress featuring small flowers of yellow and blue, her tanned calf extending down to a pair of Annie Devon sandals.
“Oh, fine,” Sarah says, swiveling her body slightly to more directly look into Amy’s eyes, and to angle herself a little closer. Their legs touch, warmly and familiarly. “Katy was so cute.” Sarah waits expectantly, part of their usual routine. Amy arches her right eyebrow.
“What illegal bahis siteleri did she do?” Amy says patiently. Sometimes she feels as though she’s losing touch with the pace of her stay-at-home partner, used as she is to the hectic office. As Sarah opens her mouth to tell her wife just that important news, Katy herself runs into the room, yelling “Mommy!” and leaps onto Amy’s lap.
With the timing of a practiced partner, Sarah smoothly takes Amy’s glass, as Amy’s arms go around their little daughter, hugging her fiercely. Amy throws Sarah a grateful look, just before she buries her face in the little girl’s long brown hair, blowing noisily into the six year old’s neck. Katy giggles uncontrollably, squirming on Amy’s lap.
“Mommy tells me that you were cute today, honey…” Amy says. Katy smiles broadly.
“I listened to myself and I didn’t know it was myself,” Katy explains, her innocent blue eyes darting from Sarah back to Amy several times. Amy looks at Sarah questioningly.
“She means she recorded herself on the MP3 player, and then didn’t recognize her voice when she heard it through the speaker,” Sarah explains.
“Oh, my,” Amy says. “Do you know why that is?” Amy asks the little girl.
“Mommy says it’s because I hear myself differently when I listen with my ears,” Katy says.
“Uh, okay,” Amy replies, confused.
“Well, what I said, Katy, is that your voice sounds different as you speak, because your ears hear it differently than if you’re listening to it coming out of a speaker,” Sarah reminds her.
“Yeah,” Katy says. “I didn’t know it was me.”
“That IS funny, isn’t it honey?” Amy says. “What did you say, that you didn’t know was you?”
“I love you, mommy,” Katy says shyly.
“I love you, too, baby, but what did you say?” Amy says, teasing, as Sarah, out of Katy’s sight, smiles.
“Mommy, ‘I love you mommy’,” Katy says, not getting the joke at first.
“I know you do, baby, but what did you say?” Amy says again, then her smile gives the joke away.
“Oh, mommy,” Katy says, a look of pity on her face, haughtily dismissing the poor joke. Amy hugs the little girl, and kisses her again. Katy giggles, quickly forgiving Amy.
Although Sarah is Katy’s birth mother, Amy contributed the egg, and a med student friend the sperm to make the miracle that is Katy, and Sarah is the full time mom to the little girl. Katy calls them both ‘Mommy’, and everyone is very happy with the arrangements.
The rest of the evening follows the normal routine, with Katy giggling at TIVO’ed cartoons from The Cartoon Channel, Yu-Gi-Oh! GX inexplicably being Katy’s favorite. After her nightly bath, which Amy and Sarah take turns supervising, eventually Katy is nestled in her bed, fast asleep. Amy and Sarah are sitting together on the love seat once again. The TV drones on almost silently nearby, though neither woman watches as “The Ghost Whisperer” solves a decades-old unsolved murder.
“Would you like another glass of chablis?” Sarah asks solicitously. Amy’s antennae are up now. Sarah either has something she’d like Amy to do, or she’s in the mood for an intimate evening. Amy knows her life partner well – she’s definitely been here before.
“Yes, I’d like that,” Amy says slowly. Sarah throws her a smile as she gets up, then returning shortly with the glistening wine glass, with its pale golden contents, small beads of condensation already forming on the curved sides of the wine glass. The night is more humid than most, in spite of their air-conditioning running full blast.
Watching Sarah’s hips and bottom as she leaves, then returns, and the movement of her generous breasts, Amy feels those familiar sensations, the small electrical tingles centered on her clitoris, that Sarah can summon in her so easily.
As Amy takes a sip, Sarah asks, “Is it cold enough?” Amy’s spousal receptors are all aquiver now. She knows, with no hope or doubt, that Sarah has something major in mind. All the signs are there. The obligation-producing gift, the solicitude gambit. No hope at all, for Amy. She takes a quick, but deep, breath, then lets it out in a rush.
“Yes, babe,” she replies with a smile. “Just the way I like it.” Since it appears inevitable to her that she’ll be speared, and most likely in a fairly messy fashion, she decides to volunteer herself for whatever domestic horrors Sarah has in mind. “It’s nice of you to do that,” she says. There it is. She now lies quivering at her wife’s feet, and the rest of the story is simply the reporting.
“Amy, I was wondering…” Sarah throws out her bait, and it’s clear that she, too, knows that the contest is already over.
“What’s that, babe?” Amy asks. Her hand nervously brushes her own leg under her twill Claiborne walking shorts.
Sarah thrusts the domestic spear forward, making sure that her prey is firmly barbed. She doesn’t want to lose it by careless retrieval, after all.
“Katy told me this canlı bahis siteleri morning that she lost her ‘Wonderland Barbie’ watch on the beach. She thinks it was under the dock when we crossed over from the stretch of beach where that small amusement park is, to the other side where that young mother with the pink thong bikini was sitting. You know, the one that you noticed? I was really hoping you wouldn’t mind looking, and…” Sarah paused.
“…go look for it. What a great idea. Sarah, this IS my vacation,” Amy finishes for her. She knows though, particularly with that ‘young mother’ reference, that it’s really important to Katy, and thus to Sarah, that she find that particular watch, one so difficult to replace, since it was only sold at the Disney resorts in Florida and California. Sarah wouldn’t resort to that one negative remark, unless she were worried that Amy might decline to help.
“Please, Amy? Katy’s going to be broken-hearted if you don’t at least try.”
The Thorns had visited the Port Lavaca beach on the Gulf of Mexico the previous day, and after a full day of sun, surf, various animal and vegetable foods on sticks, a carousel with a tune Amy might never get out of her head and cheap junk from the boardwalk shops, Amy had thought the beach tour was finished for at least a month or two. Now, hearing that she’ll have to head back, she girds herself for the trip.
Not that it’s all that tough, since they live 45 minutes away in Victoria, Texas, a modest-sized city in coastal bend Texas between Houston and San Antonio. What bothers Amy, more than the ‘getting there’, and the undoubtedly fruitless search, is coming up with an explanation for Katy that won’t break her heart.
Amy and Sarah would do just about anything to make sure Katy’s happy. She’d had a rough time of it from birth, and was just now getting up to full strength, and speed. She was still a frequent visitor at their doctor’s. She’d had a great time at the beach, and Amy would hate to spoil her memories.
“Um, are you SURE she lost it at the beach, Sarah? Did you check the car, and the towels, the blankets-” Amy begins. She feels a frown forming on her face, and hates herself for it.
But Sarah knows her Amy so very, very well. She changes the subject.
“‘The Long Adolescence of Jeanine’ is on TV again, do you want to watch it?” Sarah asks, batting her green eyes comically at Amy. Amy stares at her disbelievingly, then smiles as Sarah grins. “It IS a sweet love story,” Sarah adds innocently.
“You know I hate that movie, Sarah. The ‘deus ex machina’ at the end is so ridiculous. The pirate captain, who’s only mentioned once early in the movie and then declared dead, suddenly swoops down to save both Hector AND Jeanine from the blade of the Prince’s pendulum? Ridiculous….Um, maybe there’s something else we can do?” Sarah’s grin widens. Amy’s words are just music to Sarah’s ears.
Sarah smiles softly at Amy, then brings her face in to Amy’s, her lips first pressing into Amy’s earlobe, warmly and slowly breathing the words, “It IS a sweet love story,” and then Sarah’s plump, coral-colored lips meet perfectly with those of her wife’s. Amy’s world becomes the sensation of soft, full feminine lips pressing softly against hers, the almost imperceptible hint of Sarah’s tongue moving, the whisper of Sarah’s long lashes so near to the flesh of Amy’s cheek.
You’ve experienced no doubt, the recall of memory accompanying certain smells? Perhaps you associate a certain perfume with one lover, and see her face when you smell that fragrance? That phenomenon is particularly well-honed between Sarah and Amy.
Sarah moans softly in her throat, the soft, nearly silent expression of her desire for Amy. Amy breathes in sharply, as her heart does a double beat, and she inhales the warm perfume of she who is Sarah, a rich and complex potpourri of feminine aromas – the traces of her body splash, applied much earlier that day, after a steamy shower with her lover and wife Amy.
Amy, stimulated now by that faint scent, is cast back in time, and recollects the soft curve of Sarah’s hip as she stepped out of their shower, followed by the tantalizing inverse curve of her waist, then her breasts, droplets of water still clinging to their smooth undersides, and one particularly large droplet of water on her left nipple, bringing back memories from years before to Amy, of Sarah, lovely Sarah, nursing Katy, and then, lovingly, nursing Amy in turn. Amy groans with an immediate need, the inner surface of her pussy moistening with desire and lust for Sarah’s touch.
It’s now Sarah’s turn to experience Amy’s unique fragrance, the combination of suntan lotion and Amy’s unleashed desire, one that casts Sarah’s memory back to their first time together, a college senior and lifeguard and the young college freshman and virginal beach-goer, alone together on a white-sheeted bed in an otherwise deserted beach house, their tanned bodies naked and lithe against the rough white percale, twisting together in so very many permutations, their passion and heat, and the soft, almost musical cries in two voices that sparked their growing commitment to each other, and later, to a little girl named Katy.
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