1. A Polaroid of Kristina, part 6


    Date: 8/15/2015, Categories: Masturbation, Author: oceanrunner1974, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    the way you said that is an example of precisely what I mean. Can you visit me tomorrow?” As she asked the question I saw a hint of fear in her eyes, and she continued, “I mean, if you would like to come see me, I would very much like that, but I do not mean to presume, that every day...” She trailed off, a bit embarrassed and uncharacteristically, seemingly at a loss for words. Again blurting without too much thought, I answered, “I want to see you as often as you want to have me,” and I reddened a bit at the double meaning of “have me.” Relief came across her face and she nodded thoughtfully. “In the morning I have to go to Sloan Ket-- that is, I have some appointments, but I should be free all afternoon. Does that work?” My heart sank. I was free in the morning, but the afternoon was booked with a dentist appointment and my trumpet lesson. Still, I was flattered by the mirrored disappointment I saw in her eyes when I explained my schedule. *** I wonder now, in my adulthood, if anything would have been different if I had been able to piece together then some of the scraps of information she accidentally let drop from time to time. Some of her sadder expressions and statements, her cut-off reference to “Sloan Ket--,” or even the fact that she as a woman more than twice my age was taking up with me the way she was. I looked down again at the Polaroid in my hands: this picture that had, like Proust’s madeleine, started this flood of memories. It was literally all I had left ...
    of her. We had never written each other notes or letters, and this nude picture she had allowed me to take, to deflect and distract me from my confession of love for her (later in the summer), which she had been too kind and generous to allow herself to reciprocate out loud, was my only tangible memento. Even though I had given her so little thought over the intervening years, I had sometimes wondered if she could have possibly been as lovely as my recollections insisted, or if my memory of her was inevitably enhanced by my youth, or by the fact that she had been my first, or even that I had quickly fallen in love with her. I had lost the picture from the end of that summer to now, twenty-five years later, and I was amazed to realize that if anything she was even more beautiful than I had realized then. *** Her lovely face looked thoughtful as she settled herself back into the couch. “The day after tomorrow?” she asked hopefully? “Yes!” I agreed, almost pathetic in my eagerness. “We will have to find a way of being able to contact each other discreetly. You can always call me if you learn my telephone number, but I cannot call you unless you are alone in your apartment, and I have no way of knowing that.” I responded quickly and almost proudly, because I had a solution. You must remember, this was before the days of smartphones or even cell phones. Payphones were everywhere, and people were still grumbling that they took a quarter and not a dime. When you were out and about it ...
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