The Best Medicine porno

If, for some reason, you feel offended by sexual stories, then I don’t know why you have opened this one. Maybe to be offended, so you can complain about how awful it is that somebody writes stuff like this. If that’s the case, my advice is to seek professional help. You need it. The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults.

If you are below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other matters that you find distasteful. Caveat lector; you read at your own risk.

If you liked the story, then feel free to tell me so. If you thought it could have been better, please let me know as well.

I am very grateful for the proofreading done by my friend O.

***

Colleen lived in a small house, in an older neighborhood sandwiched between the interstate highway and the river. The river was badly polluted, and the dam below the paper mill sent the reek of fermentation into the air. On hot summer nights, atmospheric inversions would hold the stench close to the ground, and it would roll into her bedroom windows in place of the cool clean breeze she needed. The north wind brought the river smell, the south wind brought traffic noise and smog from the interstate. It was a home that invited and encouraged escape.

She came from a long line of immigrants renowned for escape. I don’t remember her dad. It seemed he was never home. Her mother was an alcoholic, an angry drunk, and beat her. There is no reasoning with a drunk. If a drunk is having a bad day, everyone around them is going to have a bad day. The only way to avoid the abuse was to be somewhere else. Her bicycle became her escape.

Colleen ate for comfort, but was athletic enough to burn off most of what she ate. She was always a little on the chubby side, so she had nice boobs and plenty of energy. Her best friend was anorexic or bulimic, and would periodically pass out at school from lack of nutrition. She was pretty depressing to be around and couldn’t keep up on hikes or bike rides. By sophomore year, Colleen was looking to escape with a different companion.

For a brief and shining month that spring, Colleen and I bicycled all over and discovered a secluded spot on Fish and Game club property at an abandoned farm east of town. Together, we learned to kiss there. I explored the scent of her skin and hair, the sight of her face, the taste and texture of her lips, her tongue and mouth, and she mine, for what seemed like an eternity.

I began to think that the universe revolved around her, that it couldn’t possibly rain on a day that we were to be together. My purpose in life became the exploration of her mouth. It hadn’t yet occurred to me that she needed me to go further.

She dumped me for another guy. She never explained why; I guess you learn to avoid confrontations when you grow up with an alcoholic parent. She just stopped agreeing to do anything with me, and starting showing up with him. He was taller than me, more publicly affectionate, perhaps more adventurous.

It wasn’t her first escape, and it wouldn’t be her last.

The new boyfriend is gone now; dumped, as I was, for another man. Her first two husbands are gone too, divorced, that is.

I stayed in touch with Colleen for a long time, eventually salvaging a long distance friendship of sorts with her and her various boyfriends and husbands. The second divorce was very hard on her, and in her hurt, she reached for me. I was there for her.

She came to a few of my races that year, and cheered for me. Long talks in the car led again to those wonderful exploratory kisses. The kisses led her to several long weekend trips to be together. Fourteen years after first exploring each other we had a brief but priceless affair.

It’s hard sometimes, when you are too close to something, to see it clearly enough, to find and organize the words to explain how much it means to you. I will do my best, with a long overdue “thank you”.

***

Dearest Colleen,

It was really wonderful to have you show up to cheer for me at that slalom race in April. The quiet talk in my car afterward, about your separating from your husband, and your parting kiss brought back feelings and memories I will carry for a lifetime.

You still have that power over me.

It was that second race, really, when you left your mark in my heart forever. I hoped that you would keep your promise to show up, but I had already invited my long- term girlfriend to attend. She wasn’t really looking for a husband (been there, done that), and had given me permission to pursue other relationships. This was different. I had to retract my invitation, wound her, and reject her, to be free to pursue my relationship with you. I had to do to her, what you had done to me. It was the deathblow to a deteriorating relationship.

I trusted you to keep your word. It wasn’t easy, after the way you had dumped me, and every other guy you had ever committed to.

This time, you didn’t disappoint me.

You came. You cheered. You shared my dinner and camped with me in the back of my cold rusty Jeep, on a night when estrogen was surely calling you to a warm cozy nest. You made love to me, fulfilling the promise of all those ancient kisses.

After fourteen years of wanting you, loving you was heaven.

I remember you straddling me in the back of my Jeep, wearing only a loose sweatshirt against the cold night air, making love to me. Just as in the old days, the kisses went on forever, their own reward. I explored your mouth with my tongue, reveling in the taste, the smell and texture of you. I found the smooth slickness inside your soft lips; the hard sharp arches of your teeth.

I probed the sweetness beneath your tongue, and the rough cobblestone texture deep in the back, where the taste of you changed in some subtle, indescribable way. I brushed my lips across yours, side to side, eyes closed, breathing in the imprinted scent of your mouth, your nose, and your breath. I immersed myself in you, letting go of every care in the world, and savoring the essences of you that I had been denied for so long.

You drew my lips between your teeth and nibbled gently, then my tongue. Your tongue came into my mouth and touched and tasted every part of me you could reach. You tasted me with patient hunger, stroking my lips and tongue. With your knees on either side of my ribs, you lowered yourself slowly onto my hardness and gently rocked your hips, feeling every tiny, delicious point of contact. I felt the Heat of you first. Then incredible warm, slick wetness as your sex stroked the front side of my cock, the slight scratchiness of your wet fur adding extra stimulation to my circumcised cock-head.

We stayed that way for a long time, savoring the alternating heat and cold as you moved. Then you reached down between us, lifted the head of my cock to your opening, and flowed yourself onto and around the essence of my being. Your Heat enveloped me, and total relaxation. You rocked your hips, stroking my corona, the mushroom-shaped head of my cock, with the ridges just inside your cunt. Or were you stroking yourself with me? I was in heaven, being inside you.

You rocked…

A contraction deep within me hardened my cock, lengthening it, the center of my perception, and sending it reaching, ever deeper into your center. Sending me spiraling up to dizzying heights of ecstasy.

You paused…

Slowly, I relaxed, and began to float back down to the mere joy of being inside you.

I savored the sensations: warmth, compression, bending, slick pulling, the ridges of your cunt dragging stronger hints of ecstasy over my glans every time you rose.

You rocked…

You paused…

I looked up into the blue of your eyes, your rapt gaze, and felt myself melting into some single being that was part I and part you.

Rock…

Pause…

We made love the same way we had kissed. Slowly. Deliberately. Savoring each smell, each contraction and each tactile sensation.

Rock…

Pause…

Savor…

I drank in the sight of your face, your eyes and your mouth. I reached under your sweatshirt, and found your nipples. Slowly, lightly, I stroked them. Slowly, deliciously, the orgasm built. With each rocking of your hips, I could feel you brushing your cervix slowly, gently, over the tip of my cock.

You paused, giving the muscles time to relax and the nerves time to recover full sensation after each exquisite movement.

Rock…

Pause…

Savor…

Your eyes were locked on mine. I squeezed your nipples harder between each thumb and forefinger. Your eyes closed and your head rolled back.

Rock…

Pause…

And then it was there. The orgasm snuck up on me out of complete relaxation, of wanting nothing more than to be there, inside you, forever. Rock. Pause. As constant as waves breaking on a beach: surge, crash, and flow. Surge, crash, flow. The rising tide of orgasm became surf. I became the surf, flowing into you again, and again, and again. Every time you moved, I became another wave, surging into you, crashing into ecstasy, and flowing into rapture.

***

I remember the next time, when you made the long drive to my home, for another intimate weekend.

I remember you stretched out naked, lying next to me in my bed. Those wonderful exploratory kisses again, that lasted forever. And then I moved lower. I found that special place behind your ear. I buried my nose there, and inhaled your scent. Tested it with my tongue. Closed my eyes and focused all of my consciousness on the smell of the woman I loved.

My lips left a trail of moisture on your skin, from your earlobe to your left nipple. I teased the areola with my tongue, drawing wet strokes from the globe of your breast to the hard, erected nipple. Your few fine hairs tugged at the areola as I licked. I placed my mouth over your breast, and drew it in, sucking gently, between my teeth. Not the hard, fast, insistent suckling of an infant, but slowly, deliberately, leaving no doubt what I wanted.

Still sucking, I gently closed my teeth onto your skin, and sucked harder as I drew away, felt the texture change from skin, to areola, to nipple, and coaxed tiny droplets of your musky essence into my mouth. You moaned, and arched your back with the pleasure. I couldn’t exactly taste your musk on my tongue, but the next time I exhaled through my nose, you were there, way back inside my head. Every breath was filled with you. My cock jumped and throbbed, but I was not done savoring you with my other senses.

I continued lower, and stopped briefly at your belly button. Clean.

I skipped your center, fighting my attraction to the scent of your arousal, and resumed my explorations on the soft skin behind your left knee. Teasing you, more than anything. I followed that tendon from your knee, up the muscle, with my lips and teeth, making little nips along the way. Just before your mound I explored the tendon again, the beginnings of your soft fur, and the little hollow between your thigh and your labia. I marveled at your skin, so smooth and pale and perfect.

The flower of your sex had blossomed, petals opened, and a pearly drop of your nectar had grown in your center, inviting me in. I dropped to the other knee, and nipped and kissed my way back to your sex. I paused over you, breathing in your scent, and gently lowered my tongue into your folds, coating my tongue with your slick nectar. Feeling the engorged vee of your inner lips, guiding me to the pearl of your ecstasy. Drawing the thickness of your nectar into my throat.

I lost myself in you, exploring between your inner and outer labia for that musky essence, driving my tongue deep into your opening for that salty, heavy metallic taste, then stroking you from anus to clitoris, over and over until the whole front wall of your cunt began to tremble against my tongue. I took your clitoris between my lips, rested the rough surface of my tongue against the very tip, and sucked, gently. I slowed my pace.

The tiniest lick.

I could feel you twitch.

I paused, and waited for it to pass.

Felt you relax.

I sucked again, harder, drawing you deeper.

Lick. Twitch…

Pause…

Suck…

Lick. Twitch…

Pause…

Eventually I brought you over the edge, with the top of my tongue, my whole universe, resting directly on your clitoris.

Watching your breasts rise and fall,

Hearing you breathe and moan,

Tasting you,

Breathing you,

Immersed in you,

Feeling you contracting in orgasm; again, and again, and again.

You.

You are the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced.

Thank you for sharing yourself with me.

Your gift to me is so rare that most will never experience it: an intimacy requiring that sexual fit be perfect, that love and trust, skill and lust occur together, and that all be off the scale. You brought me to a state that is nearly impossible to find again, even having been there; yet there it was, the very first time that you made love to me.

Thank you.

***

Shortly after this second interlude, I received the most beautifully written anonymous thank-you note. The author rhetorically asked how I knew just the right medicine, just the right dose, to aid her healing. The answer should be obvious from what I’ve written: I loved her with every fiber of my being.

I couldn’t tell her that, though, because she also thanked me for not pursuing her, not trying to capture her or hold her too closely. It was a good-bye, of sorts. Another escape.

Colleen began dating someone closer to her home. We still met privately for a while, talking and sometimes kissing. Our meetings became less frequent as her new relationship matured. Eventually they married. Several ex-girlfriends and an ex-fianc� later; so did I. It took a long time to find another woman who could measure up to the standard Colleen had set.

At this writing, another fourteen years have passed. I wrote this story to preserve and share a precious memory, so that the memory, at least, may endure. The farm, the Fish and Game club, and The Aeromotor windmill are all gone. Even the hillside is gone now, swallowed in the expansion of a highway interchange. Colleen’s third marriage has proven to be solid and enduring. She must have learned something, or perhaps she really did get just the right medicine: the best medicine.