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I still have a lump in my throat when I think about her. Her eyes shine. She has delicate yet strong hands with fingers so graceful its as though she considers each of their movements. Her smile lights up everything around her. She is small, but with round hips and breasts just small enough that sometimes she doesn't wear a bra. Her skin is smooth and caramel-colored and I've been lucky to learn its taste many times.

I was coming back home after living in Arizona for a while and stayed with Deirdre until school started--maybe a week. I hadn't seen her since she'd come to visit me months ago. I don't remember much from that visit other than the way that we explored each other for the first time. We were watching a movie in my (married) housemate's bedroom since they kept their tv in there. The tension had been there for days. At some point in the movie, Deirdre began touching my fingers. She turned my hand over and touched my palm. Absentmindedly, like it was no big deal. I responded with my hand, my fingers, and her caresses progressed and became more blatant. Soon, I was holding her, tracing the line of her dress' fabric against her neck, feeling her breasts soft against me. Feeling her leg sneak up mine so her knee rested in the swale of my waist. That is one of the most beautiful positions a woman can be in, I think. I was young and so eager, so when she laid back on my roomate's bed, I pushed her dress up quickly to get at her center. I don't even remember looking, only touching her. Hearing her small voice moan and coo at me. ...

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