1. A Polaroid of Kristina, part 1


    Date: 11/3/2014, Categories: Seduction, Author: Oncearunner1974, Rating: 2, Source: LushStories

    of not hearing her tell me that she loved me in return. I had asked her to lie in bed, sort of on her back, but partially on her side, holding her head up on her hand, which she had propped up on her elbow. Her legs spread but not excessively, and her other hand between her legs, partially covering but also partially revealing her pussy, because her fingers were parting her lips ever so slightly. I had chosen the pose because it mirrored one of the first pictures of “erotica” I had ever come across, and I had always loved the pose as a result. Kristina had obliged me willingly, and after we confirmed that the picture had come out properly, we had made love again. Looking at the picture as a forty-three year old man, I was struck by her beauty, and even as I did, I realized that she was still older in that photo than I was now, more than half a lifetime later. I should back up even more. Kristina was probably in her mid-to-late forties when I was eighteen. I had been curious but never asked. Even then I didn’t get the sense that it would have been a good question. It was not a question of manners or gallantry, but rather of fear that her being actively confronted with our age difference would make her decide that our affair needed to end. Now that seems laughable. She obviously knew our age difference and wouldn’t forget it simply because I wasn’t mentioning it. She had known exactly what she was doing, and she had good reasons for not needing to care about the consequences. ...
    I grew up in a luxurious apartment building in the city, with my parents and my two younger brothers. The building had an enclosed pool on the roof level, open all year, as well as an outdoor area for sunbathing that was open in the summer months. These were the best features of the building, especially for me during summer vacation. I spent countless hours at the pool in summertime, from the year we moved in when I was nine. The pool had a crowd of regulars, and by the time I was in my late teens, our family had been accepted as more than just “new people.” There were the old men who played cards every day, bringing a table to set up between beach chairs on the deck, ashtrays overflowing next to them. There were the older ladies with carefully salon-styled hair, whom you always had to be careful of because they would scold you mercilessly if you accidentally splashed them when they took their careful swims. The families with younger kids. The drunk lady that the lifeguards occasionally had to ask to leave. And of course there was Kristina. Until I was seventeen I probably never noticed her in a sexual way. Her beauty was perhaps a bit too subtle for even a perpetually horny teenager. My attention would usually be taken by the few bikini-clad visitors to the pool, always far younger than Kristina. All that changed the summer I turned eighteen. I was still seventeen at high-school graduation, not eighteen until early July. At the risk of sounding monotonous, I should back up ...
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