The wind was brushing through Connie’s hair, but her mind processed it as caring fingers.
More than ten years now since she had last walked up this path, ten years since she had last laid her eyes on the little wooden lookout tower that overlooked the whole coastline and the rocky pebble beach below.
Her aunt had lived here, in a beautiful house that no longer stood, squeezed into the tiny plot of land with the chaotic overgrown garden that was both a maze and museum of times gone by. Connie had loved it there, spent most her summers in the tiny room with the tiny bed, and the world had felt so large.
She had explored every path, even those which no longer existed, with everything torn down and large hotels where the cute little houses once stood. A lot had changed in years gone by, and few things for the better. The world at large was utter chaos, and even this haven of memories had started to fade.
But this path still existed, the lookout tower still stood strong, the beach was still as windy as ever, the air as salty as it belonged.
Connie let her hands fly over the tall growing grass that lined the dunes, protected them from premature erosion. She was transported back in time, to when she had come out here in the saddle of her loaner bike, and sometimes not alone.
Most memories had by now faded, only to come back to her at random times, mostly when she needed them gone, when she needed silence. Almost ten years of lonely nights had cumulated in her being here, ten years of trying to hold on to faces and names, and how it had felt to know them well.
She couldn’t help it, Rob was back here with her, even though he wasn’t. She could feel his hand on hers, his fingers interlocked with hers. How frivolous it had felt, not just the touch, but the secrecy as well. They had always looked over their shoulders before meeting, had taken detours on their ways home.
They had not belonged together, their different worlds had separated them as much as their upbringing, circles of friends and literally everything else – and yet, their lust and friendship had connected them.
Connie had not even understood herself, her own emotions, had even at times figured it was just a thing of sex. A momentary need that her body could not control, and her mind pushing her to take it out on the guy she should have kept away from. Just an odd desire for mischief that they shared, and certainly not a deeper bond.
But that belief had come and gone, and she had been unable to keep up the ruse and self-deception.
At some point, she had had to realize and then admit, that it was him she came for, his mind and soul and the depth inside his eyes. They had come out here and other places, never quite able to stay dressed for long. They had wrapped around each other, and she had let him do things to her that she never wrote her friends or parents home about.
And then, with their bodies sore and exhausted, they had exhausted the day’s remaining hours talking sense. He usually brought beer for them, she usually a picnic blanket, and together they hid in the high grass where nobody ever went to look.
Connie could close her eyes and transport herself back, to the uneven sand underneath the blanket, the drinks and food and plenty of talk. She had shared her secrets with him, and he had shared the secret that his fingers craved her skin as much as she craved his touch.
Other guys before or since had not compared to those many hours she had spent with Rob, so many and yet not nearly enough.
And then, their next summer together had come and gone, and Connie had left to head back home with a hundred kisses still on her skin – only for it to be the last they would ever share together.
The year after, she had returned, only to hear that he had passed when a car rammed into his motorcycle in the dying afternoon sun.
Connie had found herself unable to believe it, especially considering how much everyone had already moved on from the news as if Rob had never really mattered to anyone. He was gone in a second, and a month or two later, only his family remembered him – and a lonely woman who nobody even knew had been his friend.
The next year, Aunt Lizzie had sold her house and moved to a retirement home, and the year after that, the whole street of beautiful houses was bulldozed into parking lots for an ugly hotel complex.
For the decade that followed, nothing could have brought Connie back here – why would she? All she cared about had disappeared, and most things she remembered looked different now.
But the tower remained, and the wooden steps still felt the same, with that sand under her shoes and the wooden railing that was smooth from all the hands that had touched it over the years.
Connie blinked when the wind threw sand into her face, turned away for a moment before she could see clear again.
A tear had washed the grain of sand from her eye, and more tears followed now that she saw the faded knife marking in the wooden pillar next to where she stood.
She remembered that more than anything, the way they had laughed when Rob had carved their initials into it, and they had both shaken their heads over how cliché that was. But now, Connie could not believe it was still there, that a single proof remained that she wasn’t just imagining it all.
She touched the wood with her fingers, followed the contours of the little heart, and the letters that were barely visible anymore after years of erosion from the wind and sand.
Eventually, her tears stopped flowing, and she was thankful that nobody was out here to see the state she was in. The last she needed was someone to ask her if she was okay, if she needed help or anything.
No, she needed none of that, and she would have probably lashed out at anyone who dared so much as ask.
She looked back the way she had come, now wondering why on earth she was even here. Why now, why today? Her whole life was different now, she had a job and life, an apartment of her own, a guy she was kind of seeing sometimes, with talks of moving in with him.
Why was she here at all, and why did it all have to come crashing down on her so hard? Why was she here, and why did it affect her so much? Her whole body seemed weak, she had to sit down on the little wooden bench, lean her elbows on the wooden railing, and overlook the beach below her with tears that wouldn’t quite leave her eyes.
Connie looked out on the waterfront, her eyes following the tiny path that led down, trying to find that one spot where Rob had always tried to climb the cliff, and somehow never made it, nor ever falling down to his death. It had been his golden grail, to work his way up the sharp stone formation that looked easy to climb, and wasn’t – and now it was mostly a smooth wall that no longer even looked the part.
The air was heavy with her memories of times that might just have happened if they had had more time together – and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was there with her, slowly massaging her shoulders, always hesitating so much before he let his fingers wander into her shirt, as if she was gonna say no all of a sudden.
Connie could feel him there with her, his hands massaging her breasts, pinching her nipples between his fingers, as if either of them had an idea of what they were doing, or supposed to do. She could feel his hands wandering down, following her sides, down to her hips and shamelessly caressing her thighs, with his fingers teasing her through the fabric of her pants.
No, that was real, far too real. Connie jerked as she realized where her hands were, what her fingers were touching – and she quickly drew them back, looking over her shoulder with panic in her eyes.
Nobody was there, nobody was watching, nobody had seen a thing. But she had felt it, she had felt this same unbreakable desire, this urge to be touched and massaged, teased and probed, and ultimately helpless at his mercy, and knowing he would make good use of her helpless state.
Connie could not believe it, could not believe how real that had felt, and how much her body had taken control over her mind. She had not made a single conscious choice, that had all been her body showing herself what she craved, as if she needed telling.
She sighed, and rested her arms on the railing, her chin on her arms. At least this way, she didn’t have to act like she was still strong enough to hold her own weight, she could just sit there and ask the tower for help to keep her from falling over.
She closed her eyes, and it annoyed her how much she felt the wooden bench under her, how much the uncomfortably hard surface kept caressing her butt cheeks, and how rough the soft fabric of her jeans felt against her whole body. The sweatshirt she was wearing seemed heavy to her, and the shirt underneath was rough on her nipples, rough on every bit of skin that it was supposed to protect.
Connie sighed, as loud as she dared without the seagulls taking note and laughing at her predicament. She buried her head on her arms, trying to make it all go away, the memories and feelings, and that insane desire that was boiling in her.
Her fight lasted a minute, then two, and Connie felt her self-control return, was thankful for the inner strength that filled her mind as it started overcoming the erroneous ways her body had been engaging in. She felt good, strong and in charge, ready to face whoever needed facing, and it all came crashing down on her again.
Connie was unable to tell what had caused it, maybe it was just the howling wind, the way the grass bowed to its might, the way the birds enjoyed their play with dashing down and raising up. Whatever it was, it was too much, and Connie realized she had no way out, no easy excuse to leave this place and head back home.
She knew that if she got up now, turned around, walked back to her car and drove back home – then it wouldn’t feel like coming home at all. She realized only now how much of a stranger she had felt in all those years, how no matter what she had done, achieved in life, it had already felt like someone else doing it. Or even if it had been all her who made her way up the ladder of life, there had always been this other side of her, a side she kept secret from everyone and, sometimes, even herself.
A wry smile spread over her face, and it turned grim as she realized the only way she would make something of this day, this experience, was if she stopped fighting herself, and give in to her desires one last time. She needed to feel it again, this desire to be desired, and she needed those rough fingers that were so caring when it came to her.
Connie wanted to look around, see if anyone had arrived in the meantime, or was about to walk up to her, behind her. But then, she realized she did not care, and that she had never cared back then, either. If someone had walked up to them, Connie now realized, and found her lying there in the high grass, butt naked and being worked into a messy putty – she would have closed her eyes and carried on.
She closed her eyes and let her left hand trail over her breasts, and there was no denying that her nipples felt hard even through her thick sweater. She reached down, worked her way under it and back up, and shivered as her hands caressed her breasts.
Connie let out another long sigh, and this time it convinced herself to bring her right hand down, and to run up and down the inside of her thighs, to follow the seam until her body could not handle it anymore.
She undid the button, tore the zipper down, worked her butt out of the jeans, feeling the cold and hard wood right up on her skin.
She did not bother pulling her pants down any further than she had to, all she needed was a bit of room for her fingers to do their unholy work on her.
She wiggled past her panties, let out an embarrassed chuckle once she realized how wet they were, she hadn’t even noticed that before. She took a deep breath as her fingers touched her lips, and let it out in one sharp breath as she pushed further down, and her body took over from her mind.
She tried to go slow, but her fingers worked fast, and the other hand on her breast was harder to her than Rob had ever been. Rob had always taken his time with her, even when her patience had long run out, and over time, he had learned to keep her on the edge, to give her smiles and kisses when she wanted his fingers, and to run his fingers through her hair when she wanted them deep inside of her, and more of him.
Her senses heightened, and Connie knew that all of this had long been overdue – just ten years overdue, or thereabouts. She no longer felt her fingers going in and out of her, no longer felt the painful teasing touches of her thumb – not even the slight brushes of her knuckles against her naked thighs. It all became mashed into one, thing, emotion, whatever one might call it.
One moment, she was hearing things, seeing things – and the next, she was really only feeling them. There was wind in her hair, fingers inside her, the memory of a former friend who definitely was there with her today – and she could feel what he would have done to her if he could see her now.
She knew it was unlikely that he would have kept himself under control, and that had always been when she liked him most. When he had lost his temper, never in a harsh way, never something she would have been uncomfortable with – but still, past the point where her opinion mattered.
She had loved it when he did things to her without asking, especially the things he normally would have asked about, hesitated even bringing up. Sometimes, Connie had been spread out on that picnic blanket, face first with her head rested on her arms, her head tilted to the side. Rob had started massaging her, had kissed her neck while his fingers went down, between her butt cheeks and further down until he went between her lips.
A moment would have passed, and he would have teased her body as much as he had tested it, seeing how far she was willing to let him go, how ready she was, and usually embarrassingly wet.
Sometimes, he would have started fucking her right then, wrangling his penis out of his swim trunks to slowly guide it into her.
She had always loved those days, when she didn’t have to do anything, when he would slowly work her body, always in charge of his own urges and desires, and careful not to overstep.
And then, sometimes, he would have lost control, all in the split second that it took for him to throw all the respect over board, for himself and her, and the bond that they shared. He would no longer glide into her and rather plunge, would hold on to her butt cheeks with a strength that made her wince. And worst of all – best of all – he would not even ask before he reached between her cheeks, slowly started working his thumb into her butthole, and she wasn’t sure if any complaints of hers would have been heard. They just might, he was the kind of guy to take a no for an answer – but Connie had never once tried to find out.
She had yelped, sure, and her whole body had tensed up, and it was in those moments that she became truly aware of how naked she really was – and that had always done her in. She had never outlasted him on those days when he was in a rush, he had always pushed her ahead of his own failing patience.
She remembered not just one, but all the times when she had tried to hold on to something, and nothing was there. She remembered how much her body had tensed, her back had arched, and how much she had involuntarily tried to wiggle free.
It had never worked, nor had she actually wanted it to, she had always wanted him to never stop. But soon enough, soon after her, he would have finished way before they wanted – and it had never been pretty. She had always been a mess of sand and sticky skin, of sweat and streams of his seed splurting all over her back, and running down her sides.
She had never turned around, and he had never once said sorry, although his fingers said the part with how caring they explored any part of her body that he had not already violated before.
He would have gone on to run his fingers down the soles of her feet, and spent an eternity caressing her toes, as if to needlessly remove all grains of sand that had accumulated there. He would have brushed her hair, and said a thing or two that made her laugh, and eventually, he would have tested if their bodies could both handle more sex.
That second sex had always been a horror show, of slow moves and kisses, and questions in his eyes that she could now see, because they dared to face each other. She would have been there lying next to him, one leg wrapped over him, his gaze alternating between her eyes and breasts. He would have kissed her on the lips, then kissed her cheeks and neck, and whispered egregious words into her ears that no man of class should ever tell a lady.
And then, eventually, they would have found a way to split apart, and Connie would have rushed to dress up proper, as if nothing had ever happened. And still, they would have spent an hour more, now acting like the functioning adults they were, discussing life and happenings.
And then, they would have parted, and Connie would have cycled home as fast as her exhausted body still permitted. She would have fallen asleep before much longer, not even bothering to wash the smell of lust off from her skin. That always had time until the next day, there was a whole night ahead of her of being randomly awoken by random smells, and tickling skin.
She would have run her hands over her sensitive skin just like she was doing now, trying to hold on to that fading moment of pleasure that never seemed to last, never seemed to truly leave.
Connie’s eyes sparked open, as she realized that she was sitting there, that she was slowly coming back to her senses. Her legs still shivered, her muscles ached, all the nerve endings in her body were one way streets that led nowhere in particular.
She grit her teeth as reality started seeping back into her mind, and she quickly pulled the zipper back up, closed the button and brushed the fabric of her shirt straight. She looked around, all but expecting someone to stand there, grinning and watching, but the world was still deserted.
For five more minutes, Connie managed to sit still, to ride out the waves that kept washing her ashore. Five minutes, in which she got to contemplate her life, and life as a whole without much interference.
At minute six, she had to flee, had to get up and bring distance between her and this place, and the memories she craved to leave behind. Once more, she touched the engraved letters, chuckled as they left a slightly wet trail in her fingers’ wake. She bowed down, gave the wood a little kiss, as stupid as it seemed in retrospect, or in the moment for that matter.
And then, Connie left, walked down the path with no particular rush or haste. As she opened the door, she looked back up at the tower once more, and gave it a coy little wave, before she turned the key, turned around, left it all behind in her rear mirror.
She adjusted the mirror, quickly gave herself that grinning smile she deserved, then focused on the road ahead.
After all, she had a move to prepare, and maybe call her boss to let him know she was taking that promotion after all.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/yfl5ev/one_summer_long_ago_fcutevanillalong